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I  he  Hoiiow  o 
Her  I':fand 


:on 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 


'The  black  pile  is  mine,  the  gay  pile  is  yours,"  she  went 
i    turning;  toward  the  sleeping  girl 

(Page  47) 


on, 


THE    HOLLOW    OF 
HER    HAND 


BY 
GEORGE  BARR  McCUTCHEON 

Author  of  "Graustark,"  "  Truxton  King,"  etc. 


With  Illustrations  By 
A.  I.  KELLER 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 
1912 


COPYRIGHT,  1912 
By  GEORGE  BARR  McCUTCHEON 

COPYRIGHT,  1912 
By  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 

Published,  September,  1912 


35V?  5" 


CONTENTS 

•CHAPTER 

I  MARCH  COMES  IN  LIKE  THE  LION     . 

II  THE  PASSING  OF  A  NIGHT       .... 

III  HETTY   CASTLETON 

IV  WHILE  THE  MOB  WAITED        .... 
V  DISCUSSING  A  SISTER-IN-LAW  .... 

VI  SOUTHLOOK         

VII  A  FAITHFUL  CRAYON-POINT    .... 

VIII  IN  WHICH  HETTY  is  WEIGHED 

IX  HAWKRIGHT'S  MODEL 

X  THE  GHOST  AT  THE  FEAST      .... 

XI  MAN   PROPOSES . 

XII  THE  APPROACH  OF  A  MAN  NAMED  SMITH 

XIII  MR.  WRANDALL  PERJURES  HIMSELF  . 

XIV  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  MILL 

XV  SARA  WRANDALL  FINDS  THE  TRUTH  . 

XVI  THE   SECOND  ENCOUNTER        . 

XVII  CROSSING  THE  CHANNEL 

XVIII  RATTLING  OLD  BONES 

XIX  VIVIAN  AIRS  HER  OPINIONS     .... 

XX  ONCE  MORE  AT  BURTON'S  INN 

XXI  DISTURBING  NEWS 

XXII  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND   .... 

XXIII  SARA  WRANDALL'S  DECISION   .... 

XXIV  THE  JURY  OF  FOUR 

XXV  RENUNCIATION         

14,35788 


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ILLUSTRATIONS 

"The  black  pile  is  mine,  the  gay  pile  is  yours/' 
she  went  on,  turning  toward  the  sleep 
ing  girl  (page  47) Frontispiece 

Hetty  stood  there,   straight  and  motionless,  looking 

out  over  the  water 154* 

"If  I  loved  you  less  than  I  do,  I  might  say  yes"      .      .    246 

For   a    long   time    she    stood    over    him,   her   interest 

divided  between  him  and  the  hall      .       .       .       .336 

Her  audience  of  judges,  with  the  exception  of 
the  elder  Mrs.  Wrandall,  watched  her  as  if 
fascinated .  406 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 


CHAPTER    I 

MARCH  COMES  IN   LIKE  THE  UON 

THE  train,  which  had  roared  through  a  withering  gale 
of  sleet  all  the  way  up  from  New  York,  came  to  a  stand 
still,  with  many  an  ear-splitting  sigh,  alongside  the 
little  station,  and  a  reluctant  porter  opened  his  vesti 
bule  door  to  descend  to  the  snow-swept  platform:  a 
solitary  passenger  had  reached  the  journey's  end.  The 
swirl  of  snow  and  sleet  screaming  out  of  the  blackness 
at  the  end  of  the  station-building  enveloped  the  porter 
in  an  instant,  and  cut  his  ears  and  neck  with  stinging 
force  as  he  turned  his  back  against  the  gale.  A  pair  of 
lonely,  half-obscured  platform  lights  gleamed  fatuously 
at  the  top  of  their  icy  posts  at  each  end  of  the  station ; 
two  or  three  frost-encrusted  windows  glowed  dully  in 
the  side  of  the  building,  while  one  shone  brightly  where 
the  operator  sat  waiting  for  the  passing  of  No.  33. 

The  train  itself  was  dark.  Frosty  windows,  pelted 
for  miles  by  the  furious  gale,  white  outside  but  black 
within,  protected  the  snug  travellers  who  slept  the  sleep 
of  the  hurried  and  thought  not  of  the  storm  that  beat 
about  their  ears  nor  wondered  at  the  stopping  of  the 
fast  express  at  a  place  where  it  had  never  stopped  be 
fore.  Far  ahead  the  panting  engine  shed  from  its  open 
fire-box  an  aureole  of  glaring  red  as  the  stoker  fed  coal 
into  its  rapacious  maw.  The  unblinking  head-light 
threw  its  rays  into  the  thick  of  the  blinding  snow  storm, 
fruitlessly  searching  for  the  rails  through  drifts  denser 
than  fog  and  filled  with  strange,  half-visible  shapes. 

An  order  had  been  issued  for  the  stopping  of  the  fast 
express  at  B ,  a  noteworthy  concession  in  these 


2  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

days  of  premeditated  haste.  Not  in  the  previous  career 
of  flying  33  had  it  even  so  much  as  slowed  down  for  the 
insignificant  little  station,  through  which  it  swooped  at 
midnight  the  whole  year  round.  Just  before  pulling 
out  of  New  York  on  this  eventful  night  the  conductor 

received  a  command  to  stop  33  at  B and  let  down 

a  single  passenger,  a  circumstance  which  meant  trouble 
for  every  despatcher  along  the  line. 

The  woman  who  got  down  at  B in  the  wake  of 

the  shivering  but  deferential  porter,  and  who  passed  by 
the  conductors  without  lifting  her  face,  was  without 
hand  luggage  of  any  description.  She  was  heavily 
veiled,  and  warmly  clad  in  furs.  At  eleven  o'clock  that 
night  she  had  entered  the  compartment  in  New  York. 
Throughout  the  thirty  miles  or  more,  she  had  sat  alone 
and  inert  beside  the  snow-clogged  window,  peering 
through  veil  and  frost  into  the  night  that  whizzed  past 
the  pane,  seeing  nothing  yet  apparently  intent  on  all 
that  stretched  beyond.  As  still,  as  immobile  as  death 
itself  she  had  held  herself  from  the  moment  of  departure 
to  the  instant  that  brought  the  porter  with  the  word 

that  they  were  whistling  for  B .     Without  a  word 

she  arose  and  followed  him  to  the  vestibule,  where  she 
watched  him  as  he  unfastened  the  outer  door  and  lifted 
the  trap.  A  single  word  escaped  her  lips  and  he  held  out 
his  hand  to  receive  the  crumpled  bill  she  clutched  in  her 
gloved  fingers.  He  did  not  look  at  it.  He  knew  that  it 
would  amply  reward  him  for  the  brief  exposure  he  en 
dured  on  the  lonely,  wind-swept  platform  of  a  station, 
the  name  of  which  he  did  not  know. 

She  took  several  uncertain  steps  in  the  direction  of 
the  station  windows  and  stopped,  as  if  bewildered.  Al 
ready  the  engine  was  pounding  the  air  with  quick, 
vicious  snorts  in  the  effort  to  get  under  way ;  the  vesti- 


MARCH  COMES  IN  LIKE  THE  LION        3 

bule  trap  and  door  closed  with  a  bang ;  the  wheels  were 
creaking.  A  bitter  wind  smote  her  in  the  face;  the 
wet,  hurtling  sleet  crashed  against  the  thin  veil,  blind 
ing  her. 

The  door  of  the  waiting-room  across  the  platform 
opened  and  a  man  rushed  toward  her. 

"  Mrs.  Wrandall?  "  he  called  above  the  roar  of  the 
wind. 

She  advanced  quickly. 

"  Yes." 

"  What  a  night !  "  he  said,  as  much  to  himself  as 
to  her.  "  I'm  sorry  you  would  insist  on  coming  to 
night.  To-morrow  morning  would  have  satisfied 
the—" 

"Is  this  Mr.  Drake?" 

They  were  being  blown  through  the  door  into  the 
waiting-room  as  she  put  the  question.  Her  voice  was 
muffled.  The  man  in  the  great  fur  coat  put  his  weight 
against  the  door  to  close  it. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Wrandall.  I  have  done  all  that  could 
be  done  under  the  circumstances.  I  am  sorry  to  tell 
you  that  we  still  have  two  miles  to  go  by  motor  before 
we  reach  the  inn.  My  car  is  open, —  I  don't  possess  a 
limousine, —  but  if  you  will  lie  down  in  the  tonneau  you 
will  find  some  protection  from  — ' 

She  broke  in  sharply,  impatiently.  "  Pray  do  not 
consider  me,  Mr.  Drake.  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  bliz 
zard." 

"  Then  we'd  better  be  off,"  said  he,  a  note  of  anxiety 
in  his  voice, —  a  certain  touch  of  nervousness.  "  I 
drive  my  own  car.  The  road  is  good,  but  I  shall  drive 
cautiously.  Ten  minutes,  perhaps.  I  —  I  am  sorry 
you  thought  best  to  brave  this  wretched  — " 

"  I  am  not  sorry  for  myself,  Mr.  Drake,  but  for  you. 


4  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

You  have  been  most  kind.     I  did  not  expect  you  to  meet 
me." 

"  I  took  the  liberty  of  telephoning  to  you.  It  was 
well  that  I  did  it  early  in  the  evening.  The  wires  are 
down  now,  I  fear."  He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  star 
ing  at  her  as  if  trying  to  penetrate  the  thick,  wet  veil. 
"  I  may  have  brought  you  on  a  fool's  errand.  You 
see,  I  —  I  have  seen  Mr.  Wrandall  but  once,  in  town 
somewhere,  and  I  may  be  wrong.  Still,  the  coroner, 
—  and  the  sheriff, —  seemed  to  think  you  should  be  no 
tified, —  I  might  say  questioned.  That  is  why  I  called 
you  up.  I  trust,  madam,  that  I  am  mistaken." 

"  Yes,"  she  said  shrilly,  betraying  the  intensity  of 
her  emotion.  It  was  as  if  she  lacked  the  power  to  utter 
more  than  a  single  word,  which  signified  neither  acqui 
escence  nor  approval. 

He  was  ill-at-ease,  distressed.  "  I  have  engaged  a 
room  for  you  at  the  inn,  Mrs.  Wrandall.  You  did  not 
bring  a  maid,  I  see.  My  wife  will  come  over  from  our 
place  to  stay  with  you  if  you — " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Thank  you,  Mr.  Drake.  It 
will  not  be  necessary.  I  came  alone  by  choice.  I  shall 
return  to  New  York  to-night." 

"  But  you  —  why,  you  can't  do  that,"  he  cried,  hold 
ing  back  as  they  started  toward  the  door.  "  No  trains 
stop  here  after  ten  o'clock.  The  locals  begin  running 
at  seven  in  the  morning.  Besides  — " 

She  interrupted  him.  "  May  we  not  start  now,  Mr. 
Drake?  I  am  —  well,  you  must  see  that  I  am  suffer 
ing.  I  must  see,  I  must  know.  The  suspense  — 
She  did  not  complete  the  sentence,  but  hurried  past 
him  to  the  door,  throwing  it  open  and  bending  her  body 
to  the  gust  that  burst  in  upon  them. 

He  sprang  after  her,  grasping  her  arm  to  lead  her 


MARCH  COMES  IN  LIKE  THE  LION        5 

across  the  icy  platform  to  the  automobile  that  stood  in 
the  lee  of  the  building. 

Disdaining  his  command  to  enter  the  tonneau,  she 
stood  beside  the  car  and  waited  until  he  cranked  it 
and  took  his  place  at  the  wheel.  Then  she  took  her 
seat  beside  him  and  permitted  him  to  tuck  the  great 
buffalo  robe  about  her.  No  word  was  spoken.  The 
man  was  a  stranger  to  her.  She  forgot  his  presence 
in  the  car. 

Into  the  thick  of  the  storm  the  motor  chugged. 
Grim  and  silent,  the  man  at  the  wheel,  ungoggled  and 
tense,  sent  the  whirring  thing  swiftly  over  the  track 
less  village  street  and  out  upon  the  open  country  road. 
The  woman  closed  her  eyes  and  waited. 

You  would  know  the  month  was  March.  He  said: 
"  It  comes  in  like  a  lion,"  but  apparently  the  storm 
swallowed  the  words  for  she  made  no  response  to  them. 

They  crossed  the  valley  and  crept  up  the  tree-cov 
ered  hill,  where  the  force  of  the  gale  was  broken.  If 
she  heard  him  say:  "Fierce,  wasn't  it?  "  she  gave  no 
sign,  but  sat  hunched  forward,  peering  ahead  through 
the  snow  at  the  blurred  lights  that  seemed  so  far  away 
and  yet  were  close  at  hand. 

"Is  that  the  inn?"  she  asked  as  he  swerved  from 
the  road  a  few  moments  later. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Wrandall.     We're  here." 

"  Is  —  is  he  in  there?  " 

"  Where  you  see  that  lighted  window  upstairs."  He 
tooted  the  horn  vigorously  as  he  drew  up  to  the  long, 
low  porch.  Two  men  dashed  out  from  the  doorway 
and  clumsily  assisted  her  from  the  car. 

"  Go  right  in,  Mrs.  Wrandall,"  said  Drake.  "  I 
will  join  you  in  a  jiffy." 

She    walked   between    the   two    men   into   the    feebly 


6  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

lighted  office  of  the  inn.  The  keeper  of  the  place,  a 
dreary  looking  person  with  dread  in  his  eyes,  hurried 
forward.  She  stopped  stock-still.  Some  one  was 
brushing  the  stubborn,  thickly  caked  snow  from  her 
long  chinchilla  coat. 

"  You  must  let  me  get  you  something  hot  to  drink, 
madam,"  the  landlord  was  saying  dolorously. 

She  struggled  with  her  veil,  finally  tearing  it  away 
from  her  face.  Then  she  took  in  the  rather  bare, 
cheerless  room  with  a  slow,  puzzled  sweep  of  her  eyes. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  she  replied. 

"  It  won't  be  any  trouble,  madam,"  urged  the  other. 
"  It's  right  here.  The  sheriff  says  it's  all  right  to  serve 
it,  although  it  is  after  hours.  I  run  a  respectable,  law- 
abiding  house.  I  wouldn't  think  of  offering  it  to  any 
one  if  it  was  in  violation  — " 

"  Never  mind,  Burton,"  interposed  a  big  man,  ap 
proaching.  "  Let  the  lady  choose  for  herself.  If  she 
wants  it,  she'll  say  so.  I  am  the  sheriff,  madam.  This 
gentleman  is  the  coroner,  Dr.  Sheef.  We  waited  up 
for  you  after  Mr.  Drake  said  you'd  got  the  fast  train 
to  stop  for  you.  To-morrow  morning  would  have  done 
quite  as  well.  I'm  sorry  you  came  to-night  in  all  this 
blizzard." 

He  was  staring  as  if  fascinated  at  the  white,  colour 
less  face  of  the  woman  who  with  nervous  fingers  un 
fastened  the  heavy  coat  that  enveloped  her  slender  fig 
ure.  She  was  young  and  strikingly  beautiful,  despite 
the  intense  pallor  that  overspread  her  face.  Her 
dark,  questioning,  dreading  eyes  looked  up  into  his  with 
an  expression  he  was  never  to  forget.  It  combined 
dread,  horror,  doubt  and  a  smouldering  anger  that 
seemed  to  overcast  all  other  emotions  that  lay  revealed 
to  him. 


MARCH  COMES  IN  LIKE  THE  LION        7 

"  This  is  a  —  what  is  commonly  called  a  '  road- 
house  '?  "  she  asked  dully,  her  eyes  narrowing  sud 
denly  as  if  in  pain. 

The  inn-keeper  made  haste  to  resent  the  implied  crit 
icism. 

"  My  place  is  a  respectable,  law-abiding  — " 

The  sheriff  waved  him  aside. 

"  It  is  an  inn  during  the  winter,  Mrs.  Wrandall,  and 
a  road-house  in  the  summer,  if  that  makes  it  plain  to 
you.  I  will  say,  however,  that  Burton  has  always  kept 
well  within  the  law.  This  is  the  first  —  er  —  real  bit 
of  trouble  he's  had,  and  I  won't  say  it's  his  fault. 
Keep  quiet,  Burton.  No  one  is  accusing  you  of  any 
thing  wrong.  Don't  whine  about  it." 

"  But  my  place  is  ruined,"  groaned  the  doleful  one. 
"  It's  got  a  black  eye  now.  Not  that  I  blame  you, 
madam,  but  you  can  see  how  — " 

He  quailed  before  the  steady  look  in  her  eyes,  and 
turned  away  mumbling. 

There  were  half  a  dozen  men  in  the  room,  besides  the 
speakers,  sober-faced  fellows  who  conversed  in  under 
tones  and  studiously  kept  their  backs  to  the  woman  who 
had  just  come  among  them.  They  were  grouped  about 
the  roaring  fireplace  in  the  lower  end  of  the  room. 
Steam  arose  from  their  heavy  winters  garments.  Their 
caps  were  still  drawn  far  down  over  their  ears.  These 
were  men  who  had  been  out  in  the  night. 

"  There  is  a  fire  in  the  reception-room,  madam,"  said 
the  coroner ;  "  and  the  proprietor's  wife  to  look  out  for 
you  if  you  should  require  anything.  Will  you  go  in 
there  and  compose  yourself  before  going  upstairs  ?  Or, 
if  you  would  prefer  waiting  until  morning,  I  shall  not 
insist  on  the  —  er  —  ordeal  to-night." 

"  I  prefer  going  up  there  to-night,"  said  she  steadily. 


8 

The  men  looked  at  each  other,  and  the  sheriff  spoke. 
"  Mr.  Drake  is  quite  confident  the  —  the  man  is  your 
husband.  It's  an  ugly  affair,  Mrs.  Wrandall.  We  had 
no  means  of  identifying  him  until  Drake  came  in  this 
evening,  out  of  curiosity  you  might  say.  For  your 
sake,  I  hope  he  is  mistaken." 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me  something  about  it  be 
fore  I  go  upstairs?  I  am  quite  calm.  I  am  prepared 
for  anything.  You  need  not  hesitate." 

"  As  you  wish,  madam.  You  will  go  into  the  recep 
tion-room,  if  you  please.  Burton,  is  Mrs.  WrandalPs 
room  quite  ready  for  her?  " 

"  I  shall  not  stay  here  to-night,"  interposed  Mrs. 
Wrandall.  "  You  need  not  keep  the  room  for  me." 

"  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Wrandall  — " 

"  I  shall  wait  in  the  railway  station  until  morning  if 
necessary.  But  not  here." 

The  coroner  led  the  way  to  the  cosy  little  room  off  the 
office.  She  followed  with  the  sheriff.  The  men  looked 
worn  and  haggard  in  the  bright  light  that  met  them,  as 
if  they  had  not  known  sleep  or  rest  for  many  hours. 

"  The  assistant  district  attorney  was  here  until 
eleven,  but  went  home  to  get  a  little  rest.  It's  been  a 
hard  case  for  all  of  us  —  a  nasty  one,"  explained  the 
sheriff,  as  he  placed  a  chair  in  front  of  the  fire  for  her. 
She  sank  into  it  limply. 

"  Go  on,  please,"  she  murmured,  and  shook  her  head 
at  the  nervous  little  woman  who  bustled  up  and  in 
quired  if  she  could  do  anything  to  make  her  more  com 
fortable. 

The  sheriff  cleared  his  throat.  "  Well,  it  happened 
last  night.  All  day  long  we've  been  trying  to  find  out 
who  he  is,  and  ever  since  eight  o'clock  this  morning  we've 
been  searching  for  the  woman  who  came  here  with  him. 


MARCH  COMES  IN  LIKE  THE  LION        9 

She  has  disappeared  as  completely  as  if  swallowed  by 
the  earth.  Not  a  sign  of  a  clew  —  not  a  shred. 
There's  nothing  to  show  when  she  left  the  inn  or  by 
what  means.  All  we  know  is  that  the  door  to  that  room 
up  there  was  standing  half  open  when  Burton  passed 
by  it  at  seven  o'clock  this  morning  —  that  is  to  say,  yes 
terday  morning,  for  this  is  now  Wednesday.  It  is 
quite  clear,  from  this,  that  she  neglected  to  close  the 
door  tightly  when  she  came  out,  probably  through 
haste  or  fear,  and  the  draft  in  the  hall  blew  it  wider 
open  during  the  night.  Burton  says  the  inn  was  closed 
for  the  night  at  half-past  ten.  He  went  to  bed.  She 
must  have  slipped  out  after  every  one  was  sound  asleep. 
There  were  no  other  guests  on  that  floor.  Burton  and 
his  wife  sleep  on  this  floor,  and  the  servants  are  at  the 
top  of  the  house  and  in  a  wing.  No  one  heard  a 
sound.  We  have  not  the  remotest  idea  when  the 
thing  happened,  or  when  she  left  the  place.  Dr. 
Sheef  says  the  man  had  been  dead  for  six  or  eight  hours 
when  he  first  saw  him,  and  that  was  very  soon  after 
Burton's  discovery.  Burton,  on  finding  the  door  open, 
naturally  suspected  that  his  guests  had  skipped  out 
during  the  night  to  avoid  paying  the  bill,  and  lost  no 
time  in  entering  the  room. 

"  He  found  the  man  lying  on  the  bed,  sprawled  out, 
face  upward  and  as  dead  as  a  mack  —  I  should  say, 
quite  dead.  He  was  partly  dressed.  His  coat  and 
vest  hung  over  the  back  of  a  chair.  A  small  service 
carving  knife,  belonging  to  the  inn,  had  been  driven 
squarely  into  his  heart  and  was  found  sticking  there. 
Burton  says  that  the  man,  on  their  arrival  at  the  inn, 
about  nine  o'clock  at  night,  ordered  supper  sent  up  to 
the  room.  The  tray  of  dishes,  with  most  of  the  food 
untouched,  and  an  empty  champagne  bottle,  was  found 


10  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

on  the  service  table  near  the  bed.  One  of  the  chairs 
was  overturned.  The  servant  who  took  the  meal  to  the 
room  says  that  the  woman  was  sitting  at  the  window 
with  her  wraps  on,  motor  veil  and  all,  just  as  she  was 
when  she  came  into  the  place.  The  man  gave  all  the 
directions,  the  woman  apparently  paying  no  attention 
to  what  was  going  on.  The  waitress  left  the  room 
without  seeing  her  face.  She  had  instructions  not  to 
come  for  the  tray  until  morning. 

"  That  was  the  last  time  the  man  was  seen  alive. 
No  one  has  seen  the  woman  since  the  door  closed  after 
the  servant,  who  distinctly  remembers  hearing  the  key 
turn  in  the  lock  as  she  went  down  the  hall.  It  seems 
pretty  clear  that  the  man  ate  and  drank  but  not  the 
woman.  Her  food  remained  untouched  on  the  plate 
and  her  glass  was  full.  'Gad,  it  must  have  been  a 
merry  feast !  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Wrandall !  " 

"  Go  on,  please,"  said  she  levelly. 

"  That's  all  there  is  to  say  so  far  as  the  actual 
crime  is  concerned.  There  were  signs  of  a  struggle, — 
but  it  isn't  necessary  to  go  into  that.  Now,  as  to 
their  arrival  at  the  inn.  The  blizzard  had  not  set  in. 
Last  night  was  dark,  of  course,  as  there  is  no  moon, 
but  it  was  clear  and  rather  warm  for  the  time  of  year. 
The  couple  came  here  about  nine  o'clock  in  a  high 
power  runabout  machine,  which  the  man  drove.  They 
had  no  hand-baggage  and  apparently  had  run  out  from 
New  York.  Burton  says  he  was  on  the  point  of  refus 
ing  them  accommodations  when  the  man  handed  him  a 
hundred  dollar  bill.  It  was  more  than  Burton's  cu 
pidity  could  withstand.  They  did  not  register.  The 
state  license  numbers  had  been  removed  from  the  auto 
mobile,  which  was  of  foreign  make.  Of  course,  it  was 
only  a  question  of  time  until  we  could  have  found  out 


MARCH  COMES  IN  LIKE  THE  LION       11 

who  the  car  belonged  to.  It  is  perfectly  obvious  why 
he  removed  the  numbers." 

At  this  juncture  Drake  entered  the  room.  Mrs. 
Wrandall  did  not  at  first  recognise  him. 

"  It  has  stopped  snowing,"  announced  the  new 
comer. 

"  Oh,  it  is  Mr.  Drake,"  she  murmured.  "  We  have 
a  little  French  car,  painted  red,"  she  announced  to  the 
sheriff  without  giving  Drake  another  thought. 

"  And  this  one  is  red,  madam,"  said  the  sheriff,  with 
a  glance  at  the  coroner.  Drake  nodded  his  head. 
Mrs.  Wrandall's  body  stiffened  perceptibly,  as  if  de 
flecting  a  blow.  "  It  is  still  standing  in  the  garage, 
where  he  left  it  on  his  arrival." 

"  Did  no  one  see  the  face  of —  of  the  woman?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Wrandall,  rather  querulously.  "  It  seems  odd 
that  no  one  should  have  seen  her  face,"  she  went  on 
without  waiting  for  an  answer. 

"  It's  not  strange,  madam,  when  you  consider  all  the 
circumstances.  She  was  very  careful  not  to  remove 
her  veil  or  her  coat  until  the  door  was  locked.  That 
proves  that  she  was  not  the  sort  of  woman  we  usually 
find  gallavanting  around  with  men  regardless  of  — 
ahem,  I  beg  your  pardon.  This  must  be  very  distress 
ing  to  you." 

"  I  am  not  sure,  Mr.  Sheriff,  that  it  is  my  husband 
who  lies  up  there.  Please  remember  that,"  she  said 
steadily.  "  It  is  easier  to  hear  the  details  now,  before 
I  know,  than  it  will  be  afterward  if  it  should  turn  out 
to  be  as  Mr.  Drake  declares." 

"  I  see,"  said  the  sheriff,  marvelling. 

"  Besides,  Mr.  Drake  is  not  positive,"  put  in  the 
coroner  hopefully. 

"  I  am  reasonably  certain,"  said  Drake. 


12  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  Then  all  the  more  reason  why  I  should  have  the 
story  first,"  said  she,  with  a  shiver  that  no  one  failed 
to  observe. 

The  sheriff  resumed  his  conclusions.  "  Women  of 
the  kind  I  referred  to  a  moment  ago  don't  care  whether 
they're  seen  or  not.  In  fact,  they're  rather  brazen 
about  it.  But  this  one  was  different.  She  was  as 
far  from  that  as  it  was  possible  for  her  to  be.  We 
haven't  been  able  to  find  any  one  who  saw  her  face  or 
who  can  give  the  least  idea  as  to  what  she  looks  like, 
excepting  a  general  description  of  her  figure,  her  car 
riage,  and  the  out-door  garments  she  wore.  We  have 
reason  to  believe  she  was  young.  She  was  modestly 
dressed.  Her  coat  was  one  of  those  heavy  ulster  af 
fairs,  such  as  a  woman  uses  in  motoring  or  on  a  sea- 
voyage.  There  was  a  small  sable  stole  about  her  neck. 
The  skirt  was  short,  and  she  wore  high  black  shoes  of 
the  thick  walking  type.  Judging  from  Burton's  de 
scription  she  must  have  been  about  your  size  and 
figure,  Mrs.  Wrandall.  Isn't  that  so,  M-rs.  Burton?  " 

The  inn-keeper's  wife  spoke.  "  Yes,  Mr.  Harben, 
I'd  say  so  myself.  About  five  feet  six,  I'd  judge; 
rather  slim  and  graceful-like,  in  spite  of  the  big  coat." 

Mrs.  Wrandall  was  watching  the  woman's  face.  "  I 
am  five  feet  six,"  she  said,  as  if  answering  a  question. 

The  sheriff  cleared  his  throat  somewhat  needlessly. 

"  Burton  says  she  acted  as  if  she  were  a  lady,"  he 
went  on.  "  Not  the  kind  that  usually  comes  out  here 
on  such  expeditions,  he  admits.  She  did  not  speak  to 
any  one,  except  once  in  very  low  tones  to  the  man  she 
was  with,  and  then  she  was  standing  by  the  fireplace 
out  in  the  main  office,  quite  a  distance  from  the  desk. 
She  went  upstairs  alone,  and  he  gave  some  orders  to 
Burton  before  following  her.  That  was  the  last  time 


MARCH  COMES  IN  LIKE  THE  LION       13 

Burton  saw  her.     The  waitress  went  up  with  a  spe 
cially  prepared  supper  about  half  an  hour  later.'* 

"  It  seems  quite  clear,  Mrs.  Wrandall,  that  she 
robbed  the  man  after  stabbing  him,"  said  the  coroner. 

Mrs.  Wrandall  started.  "  Then  she  was  not  a  lady, 
after  all,"  she  said  quickly.  There  was  a  note  of  re 
lief  in  her  voice.  It  was  as  if  she  had  put  aside  a  half- 
formed  conclusion. 

"  His  pockets  were  empty.  Not  a  penny  had  been 
left.  Watch,  cuff-links,  scarf  pin,  cigarette  case,  purse 
and  bill  folder, —  all  gone.  Burton  had  seen  most  of 
these  articles  in  the  office." 

"  Isn't  it  —  but  no !  Why  should  I  be  the  one  to 
offer  a  suggestion  that  might  be  construed  as  a  de 
fence  for  this  woman?  " 

"  You  were  about  to  suggest,  madam,  that  some  one 
else  might  have  taken  the  valuables  —  is  that  it  ?  " 
cried  the  sheriff. 

"  Had  you  thought  of  it,  Mr.  Sheriff?  " 

"  I  had  not.  It  isn't  reasonable.  No  one  about 
this  place  is  suspected.  We  have  thought  of  this,  how 
ever:  the  murderess  may  have  taken  all  of  these  things 
away  with  her  in  order  to  prevent  immediate  identifica 
tion  of  her  victim.  She  may  have  been  clever  enough 
for  that.  It  would  give  her  a  start." 

"  Not  an  unreasonable  conclusion,  when  you  stop  to 
consider,  Mr.  Sheriff,  that  the  man  took  the  initiative 
in  that  very  particular,"  said  Mrs.  Wrandall  in  such 
a  self-contained  way  that  the  three  men  looked  at  her 
in  wonder.  Then  she  came  abruptly  to  her  feet.  "  It 
is  very  late,  gentlemen.  I  am  ready  to  go  upstairs, 
Mr.  Sheriff." 

"  I  must  warn  you,  madam,  that  Mr.  Drake  is  rea 
sonably  certain  that  it  is  your  husband,"  said  the  cor- 


14  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

oner  uncomfortably.  "  You  may  not  be  prepared  for 
the  shock  that  — " 

"  I  shall  not  faint,  Dr.  Sheef.  If  it  is  my  husband 
I  shall  ask  you  to  leave  me  alone  in  the  room  with  him 
for  a  little  while."  The  final  word  trailed  out  into 
a  long,  tremulous  wail,  showing  how  near  she  was  to 
the  breaking  point  in  her  wonderful  effort  at  self-con 
trol.  The  men  looked  away  hastily.  They  heard  her 
draw  two  or  three  deep,  quavering  breaths ;  they  could 
almost  feel  the  tension  that  she  was  exercising  over 
ierself. 

The  doctor  turned  after  a  moment  and  spoke  very 
gently,  but  with  professional  firmness.  "  You  must 
not  think  of  venturing  out  in  this  wretched  night, 
madam.  It  would  be  the  worst  kind  of  folly.  Surely 
you  will  be  guided  by  me  —  by  your  own  common 
sense.  Mrs.  Burton  will  be  with  you  — " 

"  Thank  you,  Dr.  Sheef,"  she  interposed  calmly. 
"  If  what  we  all  fear  should  turn  out  to  be  the  truth, 
I  could  not  stay  here.  I  could  not  breathe.  I  could 
not  live.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  Mr.  Drake  is  mis 
taken,  I  shall  stay.  But  if  it  is  my  husband,  I  can 
not  remain  under  the  same  roof  with  him,  even  though 
he  be  dead.  I  do  not  expect  you  to  understand  my 
feelings.  It  would  be  asking  too  much  of  men, —  too 
much." 

"  I  think  I  understand,"  murmured  Drake. 

"  Come,"  said  the  sheriff,  arousing  himself  with  an 
effort. 

She  moved  swiftly  after  him.  Drake  and  the  coroner, 
following  close  behind  with  Mrs.  Burton,  could  not  take 
their  eyes  from  the  slender,  graceful  figure.  She  was  a 
revelation  to  them.  Feeling  as  they  did  that  she  was 
about  to  be  confronted  by  the  most  appalling  crisis 


MARCH  COMES  IN  LIKE  THE  LION       15 

imaginable,  they  could  not  but  marvel  at  her  compos 
ure.  Drake's  mind  dwelt  on  the  stories  of  the  guillo 
tine  and  the  heroines  who  went  up  to  it  in  those  bloody 
days  without  so  much  as  a  quiver  of  dread.  Somehow, 
to  him,  this  woman  was  a  heroine. 

They  passed  into  the  hall  and  mounted  the  stairs. 
At  the  far  end  of  the  corridor,  a  man  was  seated  in 
front  of  a  closed  door.  He  arose  as  the  party  ap 
proached.  The  sheriff  signed  for  him  to  open  the 
door  he  guarded.  As  he  did  so,  a  chilly  blast  of  air 
blew  upon  the  faces  of  those  in  the  hall.  The  curtains 
in  the  window  of  the  room  were  flapping  and  whipping 
in  the  wind.  Mrs.  Wrandall  caught  her  breath.  For 
the  briefest  instant,  it  seemed  as  though  she  was  on  the 
point  of  faltering.  She  dropped  farther  behind  the 
sheriff,  her  limbs  suddenly  stiff,  her  hand  going  out  to 
the  wall  as  if  for  support.  The  next  moment  she  was 
moving  forward  resolutely  into  the  icy,  dimly  lighted 
room. 

A  single  electric  light  gleamed  in  the  corner  beside 
the  bureau.  Near  the  window  stood  the  bed.  She 
went  swiftly  toward  it,  her  eyes  fastened  upon  the 
ridge  that  ran  through  the  centre  of  it:  a  still,  white 
ridge  that  seemed  without  beginning  or  end. 

With  nervous  fingers,  the  attendant  lifted  the  sheet 
at  the  head  of  the  bed  and  turned  it  back.  As  he  let 
it  fall  across  the  chest  of  the  dead  man,  he  drew  back 
and  turned  his  face  away. 

She  bent  forward  and  then  straightened  her  figure 
to  its  full  height,  without  for  an  instant  removing  her 
gaze  from  the  face  of  the  man  who  lay  before  her:  a 
dark-haired  man  grey  in  death,  who  must  have  been 
beautiful  to  look  upon  in  the  flush  of  life. 

For  a  long  time  she  stood  there  looking,  as  motion- 


16  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

less  as  the  object  on  which  she  gazed.  Behind  her  were 
the  tense,  keen-eyed  men,  not  one  of  whom  seemed  to 
breathe  during  the  grim  minutes  that  passed.  The 
wind  howled  about  the  corners  of  the  inn,  but  no  one 
heard  it.  They  heard  the  beating  of  their  hearts, 
even  the  ticking  of  their  watches,  but  not  the  wail  of 
the  wind. 

At  last  her  hands,  claw-like  in  their  tenseness,  went 
slowly  to  her  temples.  Her  head  drooped  slightly 
forward,  and  a  great  shudder  ran  through  her  body. 
The  coroner  started  forward,  expecting  her  to  col 
lapse. 

"  Please  go  away,"  she  was  saying  in  an  absolutely 
emotionless  voice.  "  Let  me  stay  here  alone  for  a 
little  while." 

That  was  all.  The  men  relaxed.  They  looked  at 
each  other  with  a  single  question  in  their  eyes.  Was 
it  quite  safe  to  leave  her  alone  with  her  dead?  They 
hesitated. 

She  turned  on  them  suddenly,  spreading  her  arms 
in  a  wide  gesture  of  self-absolution.  Her  sombre  eyes 
swept  the  group. 

"  I  can  do  no  harm.  This  man  is  mine.  I  want  to 
look  at  him  for  the  last  time  —  alone.  Will  you  go  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean,  madam,  that  you  intend  to  — "  be 
gan  the  coroner  in  alarm. 

She  clasped  her  hands.  "  I  mean  that  I  shall  take 
my  last  look  at  him  now  —  and  here.  Then  you  may 
do  what  you  like  with  him.  He  is  your  dead  —  not 
mine.  I  do  not  want  him.  Can  you  understand?  I 
do  not  want  this  dead  thing.  But  there  is  something 
I  would  say  to  him,  something  that  I  must  say.  Some 
thing  that  no  one  must  hear  but  the  good  God  who 
knows  how  much  he  has  hurt  me.  I  want  to  say  it 


MARCH  COMES  IN  LIKE  THE  LION       17 

close  to  those  grey,  horrid  ears.     Who  knows?     He 
may  hear  me !  " 

Wondering,  the  others  backed  from  the  room.  She 
watched  them  until  they  closed  the  door. 

Listening,  they  heard  her  lower  the  window.  It 
squealed  like  a  thing  in  fear. 

Ten  minutes  passed.  The  group  in  the  hall  con 
versed  in  whispers. 

"  Why  did  she  put  the  window  down  ?  "  asked  the 
wife  of  the  inn-keeper,  crossing  herself. 

Drake  shook  his  head.  "  I  wonder  what  she  is  say 
ing  to  him,"  he  muttered. 

"  A  wonderful  nerve,"  said  Dr.  Sheef.  "  Positively 
wonderful.  I've  never  seen  anything  like  it." 

"  Her  own  husband,  too,"  said  Mrs.  Burton. 
"  Why,  I  —  I  should  have  said  she'd  go  into  hysterics. 
Such  a  handsome  man  he  was." 

"  I  guess,  from  what  I've  heard  of  this  fellow,  Wran- 
dall,  he's  not  been  an  angel,"  volunteered  the  sheriff. 

Drake  shook  his  head  once  more. 

"  He  ain't  one  now,  I'll  bet  on  that,"  said  the  man 
who  stood  guard.  "  He's  in  hell  if  ever  a  man  — " 

"  Sh !  "  whispered  the  woman  in  horror.  "  God  for 
give  you  for  uttering  words  like  that !  " 

"  Every  one  in  the  city  knows  what  sort  of  a  man 
he's  been,"  said  Drake. 

"  He  comes  of  a  fine  family,"  said  the  coroner. 
"  One  of  the  best  in  New  York.  I  guess  he's  never  been 
much  of  a  credit  to  it,  however." 

"  They  say  he  ran  after  chorus  girls,"  said  Mrs. 
Burton.  The  men  grinned. 

"  I've   an  idea   she's  had  the  devil's  own  time  with 


18  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

him,"  mused  the  sheriff,  with  a  jerk  of  his  head  in  the 
direction  of  the  door. 

"  Poor  thing,"  said  the  inn-keeper's  wife. 

"  Well,"  said  Drake,  taking  a  deep  breath,  "  she 
won't  have  to  worry  any  more  about  his  not  coming 
home  nights.  I  say,  this  business  will  create  a  fearful 
sensation,  sheriff.  The  Four  Hundred  will  have  a 
conniption  fit." 

"  We've  got  to  land  that  girl,  whoever  she  is,"  grated 
the  official.  "  Now  that  we  know  who  he  is,  it  shouldn't 
be  hard  to  pick  out  the  women  he's  been  trailing  with 
lately.  Then  we  can  sift  'em  down  until  the  right  one 
is  left.  It  ought  to  be  easy." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  it,"  said  the  coroner,  shaking 
his  head.  "  I  have  a  feeling  that  she  isn't  one  of  the 
ordinary  type.  It  wouldn't  surprise  me  if  she  belongs 
to  —  well,  you  might  say,  the  upper  ten.  Somebody's 
wife,  don't  you  see.  That  will  make  it  rather  difficult, 
especially  as  her  tracks  have  been  pretty  well  cov 
ered." 

"  It  beats  me,  how  she  got  away  without  leaving  a 
single  sign  behind  her,"  acknowledged  the  sheriff. 
<(  She's  a  wonder,  that's  all  I've  got  to  say." 

At  that  instant  the  door  opened  and  Mrs.  Wrandall 
appeared.  She  stopped  short,  confronting  the  hud 
dled  group,  dry-eyed  but  as  pallid  as  a  ghost.  Her 
eyes  were  wide,  apparently  unseeing ;  her  colourless  lips 
were  parted  in  the  drawn  rigidity  that  suggested  but 
one  thing  to  the  professional  man  who  looks:  the  risis 
sardonicus  of  the  strychnae  victim.  With  a  low  cry, 
the  doctor  started  forward,  fully  convinced  that  she 
had  swallowed  the  deadly  drug. 

"  For  God's  sake,  madam,"  he  began.  But  as  he 
spoke,  her  expression  changed ;  she  seemed  to  be  aware 


MARCH  COMES  IN  LIKE  THE  LION       1$ 

of  their  presence  for  the  first  time.  Her  eyes  nar 
rowed  in  a  curious  manner,  and  the  rigid  lips  seemed  to 
surge  with  blood,  presenting  the  effect  of  a  queer, 
swift-fading  smile  that  lingered  long  after  her  face 
was  set  and  serious. 

"  I  neglected  to  raise  the  window,  Dr.  Sheef,"  she 
said  in  a  low  voice.  "  It  was  very  cold  in  there." 
She  shivered  slightly.  "  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to 
tell  me  what  I  am  to  do  now?  What  formalities  re 
main  for  me  — " 

The  coroner  was  at  her  side.  "  Time  enough  for 
that,  Mrs.  Wrandall.  The  first  thing  you  are  to  do  is 
to  take  something  warm  to  drink,  and  pull  yourself  to 
gether  a  bit  — " 

She  drew  herself  up  coldly.  "  I  am  quite  myself^ 
Dr.  Sheef.  Pray  do  not  alarm  yourself  on  my  account. 
I  shall  be  obliged  to  you,  however,  if  you  will  tell  me 
what  I  am  to  do  as  speedily  as  possible,  and  let  me  do 
it  so  that  I  may  leave  this  —  this  unhappy  place  with 
out  delay.  No!  I  mean  it,  sir.  I  am  going  to-night 
< —  unless,  of  course,"  she  said,  with  a  quick  look  at  the 
sheriff,  "  the  law  stands  in  the  way." 

"  You  are  at  liberty  to  come  and  go  as  you  please, 
Mrs.  Wrandall,"  said  the  sheriff,  "  but  it  is  most  fool 
hardy  to  think  of  — " 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  she  said,  "  for  letting 
me  go.  I  thought  perhaps  there  might  be  legal  re 
straint."  She  sent  a  swift  glance  over  her  shoulder, 
and  then  spoke  in  a  high,  shrill  voice,  indicative  of  ex 
treme  dread  and  uneasiness : 

"  Close  the  door  to  that  room ! " 

The  door  was  standing  wide  open,  just  as  she  had 
left  it.  Startled,  the  coroner's  deputy  sprang  forward 
to  close  it.  Involuntarily,  all  of  her  listeners  looked 


20  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

in  the  direction  of  the  room,  as  if  expecting  to  see  the 
form  of  the  murdered  man  advancing  upon  them.  The 
feeling,  swiftly  gone,  was  most  uncanny. 

"  Close  it  from  the  inside,"  commanded  the  coroner, 
with  unmistakable  emphasis.  The  man  hesitated,  and 
then  did  as  he  was  ordered,  but  not  without  a  curious 
look  at  the  wife  of  the  dead  man,  whose  back  was  to 
ward  him. 

"  He  will  not  find  anything  disturbed,  doctor,"  said 
she,  divining  his  thought.  "  I  had  the  feeling  that 
something  was  creeping  toward  us  out  of  that  room." 

"  You  have  every  reason  to  be  nervous,  madam. 
The  situation  has  been  most  extraordinary, —  most 
trying,"  said  the  coroner.  "  I  beg  of  you  to  come  down 
stairs,  where  we  may  attend  to  a  few  necessary  details 
without  delay.  It  has  been  a  most  fatiguing  matter 
for  all  of  us.  Hours  without  sleep,  and  such  wretched 
weather." 

They  descended  to  the  warm  little  reception-room. 
She  sent  at  once  for  the  inn-keeper,  who  came  in  and 
glowered  at  her  as  if  she  were  wholly  responsible  for 
the  blight  that  had  been  put  upon  his  place. 

"  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  send  some  one  to  the 
station  with  me  in  your  depot  wagon?  "  she  demanded 
without  hesitation. 

He  stared.  "  We  don't  run  a  'bus  in  the  winter 
time,"  he  said  gruffly. 

She  opened  the  little  chatelaine  bag  that  hung  from 
her  wrist  and  abstracted  a  card  which  she  submitted 
to  the  coroner. 

"  You  will  find,  Dr.  Sheef,  that  the  car  my  husband 
came  up  here  in  belongs  to  me.  This  is  the  card  issued 
by  the  State.  It  is  in  my  name.  The  factory  num 
ber  is  there.  You  may  compare  it  with  the  one  on  the 


car.  My  husband  took  the  car  without  obtaining  my 
consent." 

"  Joy  riding,"  said  Burton,  with  an  ugly  laugh. 
Then  he  quailed  before  the  look  she  gave  him. 

"  If  no  other  means  is  offered,  Dr.  Sheef,  I  shall  ask 
you  to  let  me  take  the  car.  I  am  perfectly  capable  of 
driving.  I  have  driven  it  in  the  country  for  two  sea 
sons.  All  I  ask  is  that  some  one  be  directed  to  go  with 
me  to  the  station.  No !  Better  than  that,  if  there  is 
some  one  here  who  is  willing  to  accompany  me  to  the 
city,  he  shall  be  handsomely  paid  for  going.  It  is  but 
little  more  than  thirty  miles.  I  refuse  to  spend  the 
night  in  this  house.  That  is  final." 

They  drew  apart  to  confer,  leaving  her  sitting  be 
fore  the  fire,  a  stark  figure  that  seemed  to  detach  itself 
entirely  from  its  surroundings  and  their  companion 
ship.  At  last,  the  coroner  came  to  her  side  and  touched 
her  arm. 

"  I  don't  know  what  the  district  attorney  and  the 
police  will  say  to  it,  Mrs.  Wrandall,  but  I  shall  take  it 
upon  myself  to  deliver  the  car  to  you.  The  sheriff  has 
gone  out  to  compare  the  numbers.  If  he  finds  that  the 
car  is  yours,  he  will  see  to  it,  with  Mr.  Drake,  that  it 
is  made  ready  for  you.  I  take  it  that  we  will  have  no 
difficulty  in  — "  He  hesitated,  at  a  loss  for  words. 

"  In  finding  it  again  in  case  you  need  it  for  evi 
dence?  "  she  supplied.  He  nodded.  "I  shall  make  it 
a  point,  Dr.  Sheef,  to  present  the  car  to  the  State  after 
it  has  served  my  purpose  to-night.  I  shall  not  ride  in 
it  again." 

"  The  sheriff  has  a  man  who  will  ride  with  you  to 
the  station  or  the  city,  whichever  you  may  elect.  Now, 
may  I  trouble  you  to  make  answer  to  certain  ques 
tions  I  shall  write  out  for  you  at  once?  The  man  is 


22  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

Challis  Wrandall,  your  husband?     You  are  positive?  " 

"  I  am  positive.  He  is  —  or  was  —  Challis  Wran 
dall." 

Half  an  hour  later,  she  was  ready  for  the  trip  to 
New  York  City.  The  clock  in  the  office  marked  the 
hour  as  one.  A  toddied  individual  in  a  great  buffalo 
coat  waited  for  her  outside,  hiccoughing  and  bandying 
jest  with  the  half- frozen  men  who  had  spent  the  night 
with  him  in  the  forlorn  hope  of  finding  the  girl. 

Mrs.  Wrandall  gave  final  instructions  to  the  coroner 
and  his  deputy,  who  happened  to  be  the  undertaker's 
assistant.  She  had  answered  all  the  questions  that 
had  been  put  to  her,  and  had  signed  the  document  with 
a  firm,  untrembling  hand.  Her  veil  had  been  lowered 
since  the  beginning  of  the  examination.  They  did  not 
see  her  face ;  they  only  heard  the  calm,  low  voice,  sweet 
with  fatigue  and  dread. 

"  I  shall  notify  my  brother-in-law  as  soon  as  I  reach 
the  city,"  she  said.  "  He  will  attend  to  everything. 
Mr.  Leslie  Wrandall,  I  mean.  My  husband's  only 
brother.  He  will  be  here  in  the  morning,  Dr.  Sheef. 
My  own  apartment  is  not  open.  I  have  been  staying 
in  a  hotel  since  my  return  from  Europe  two  days  ago. 
But  I  shall  attend  to  the  opening  of  the  place  to-mor 
row.  You  will  find  me  there." 

The  coroner  hesitated  a  moment  before  putting  the 
question  that  had  come  to  his  mind  as  she  spoke. 

"  Two  days  ago,  madam  ?  May  I  inquire  where  your 
husband  has  been  living  during  your  absence  abroad? 
When  did  you  last  see  him  alive?  " 

She  did  not  reply  for  many  seconds,  and  then  it  was 
with  a  perceptible  effort. 

"  I  have  not  seen  him  since  my  return  until  —  to 
night,"  she  replied,  a  hoarse  note  creeping  into  her 


voice.  "  He  did  not  meet  me  on  my  return.  His 
brother  Leslie  came  to  the  dock.  He  —  he  said  that 
Challis,  who  came  back  from  Europe  two  weeks  ahead 
of  me,  had  been  called  to  St.  Louis  on  very  important 
business.  My  husband  had  been  living  at  his  club,  I 
understand.  That  is  all  I  can  tell  you,  sir." 

"  I  see,"  said  the  coroner  gently. 

He  opened  the  door  for  her  and  she  passed  out.  A 
number  of  men  were  grouped  about  the  throbbing  mo 
tor-car.  They  fell  away  as  she  approached,  silently 
fading  into  the  shadows  like  so  many  vast,  unwholesome 
ghosts.  The  sheriff  and  Drake  came  forward. 

"  This  man  will  go  with  you,  madam,"  said  the  sheriff, 
pointing  to  an  unsteady  figure  beside  the  machine. 
"  He  is  the  only  one  who  will  undertake  it.  They're  all 
played  out,  you  see.  He  has  been  drinking,  but  only 
on  account  of  the  hardships  he  has  undergone  to-night. 
You  will  be  quite  safe  with  Morley." 

No  snow  was  falling,  but  a  bleak  wind  blew  meanly. 
The  air  was  free  from  particles  of  sleet ;  wetly  the  fall 
of  the  night  clung  to  the  earth  where  it  had  fallen. 

"  If  he  will  guide  me  to  the  Post-road,  that  is  all  I 
ask,"  said  she  hurriedly.  Involuntarily  she  glanced 
upward.  The  curtains  in  an  upstairs  window  were 
blowing  inward  and  a  dim  light  shone  out  upon  the  roof 
of  the  porch.  She  shuddered  and  then  climbed  up  to 
the  seat  and  took  her  place  at  the  wheel. 

A  few  moments  later,  the  three  men  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  road  watched  the  car  as  it  rushed  away. 

"  By  George,  she's  a  wonder !  "  said  the  sheriff. 


CHAPTER    II 

THE   PASSING   OF   A   NIGHT 

THE  sheriff  was  right.  Sara  Wrandall  was  an  ex 
traordinary  woman,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  modify 
his  rather  crude  estimate  of  her.  It  is  difficult  to  un 
derstand,  much  less  to  describe  a  nature  like  hers. 
Fine-minded,  gently  bred  women  who  can  go  through 
an  ordeal  such  as  she  experienced  without  breaking  un 
der  the  strain  are  rare  indeed.  They  must  be  wonder 
ful.  It  is  hard  to  imagine  a  more  heart-breaking  crisis 
in  life  than  the  one  which  confronted  her  on  this  dread 
ful  night,  and  yet  she  had  faced  it  with  a  fortitude  that 
seems  almost  unholy. 

She  had  loved  her  handsome,  wayward  husband.  He 
had  hurt  her  deeply  more  times  than  she  chose  to  re 
member  during  the  six  years  of  their  married  life,  but 
she  had  loved  him  in  spite  of  the  wounds  up  to  the  in 
stant  when  she  stood  beside  his  dead  body  in  the  cold 
little  room  at  Burton's  Inn.  She  went  there  loving  him 
as  he  had  lived,  yet  prepared,  almost  foresworn,  to 
loathe  him  as  he  had  died,  and  she  left  him  lying  there 
alone  in  that  dreary  room  without  a  spark  of  the  old 
affection  in  her  soul.  Her  love  for  him  died  in  giving 
birth  to  the  hatred  that  now  possessed  her.  While 
he  lived  it  was  not  in  her  power  to  control  the  unrea 
soning  resistless  thing  that  stands  for  love  in  woman: 
he  was  her  love,  the  master  of  her  impulses.  Dead,  he 
was  an  unwholesome,  unlovely  clod,  a  pallid  thing  to  be 
scorned,  a  hulk  of  worthless  clay.  His  blood  was  cold. 
He  could  no  longer  warm  her  with  it ;  it  could  no  longer 
kill  the  chill  that  his  misdeeds  cast  about  her  tender 

24 


THE  PASSING  OF  A  NIGHT  25 

sensitiveness;  his  lips  and  eyes  never  more  could  smile 
and  conquer.  He  was  a  dead  thing.  Her  love  was  a 
dead  thing.  They  lay  separate  and  apart.  The  tie 
was  broken.  With  love  died  the  final  spark  of  respect 
she  had  left  for  him  in  her  tired,  loyal,  betrayed  heart. 
He  was  at  last  a  thing  to  be  despised,  even  by  her. 
She  despised  him. 

She  sent  the  car  down  the  slope  and  across  the  moon 
less  valley  with  small  regard  for  her  own  or  her  com 
panion's  safety.  It  swerved  from  side  to  side,  skidded 
and  leaped  with  terrifying  suddenness,  but  held  its  way 
as  straight  as  the  bird  that  flies,  driven  by  a  steady 
hand  and  a  mind  that  had  no  thought  for  peril.  A  so 
ber  man  at  her  side  would  have  been  afraid ;  this  man 
swayed  mildly  to  and  fro  and  chuckled  with  drunken 
glee. 

Her  bitter  thoughts  were  not  of  the  dead  man  back 
there,  but  of  the  live  years  that  she  was  to  bury  with 
him :  years  that  would  never  pass  beyond  her  ken,  that 
would  never  die.  He  had  loved  her  in  his  wild,  ruthless 
way.  He  had  left  her  times  without  number  in  the 
years  gone  by,  but  he  had  always  come  back,  gaily  un- 
chastened,  to  remould  the  love  that  waited  with  dog- 
like  fidelity  for  the  touch  of  his  cunning  hand.  But 
he  had  taken  his  last  flight.  He  would  not  come  back 
again.  It  was  all  over.  Once  too  often  he  had  tried 
his  reckless  wings.  She  would  not  have  to  forgive 
him  again.  Uppermost  in  her  mind  was  the  curiously 
restful  thought  that  his  troubles  were  over,  and  with 
them  her  own.  A  hand  less  forgiving  than  hers  had 
struck  him  dead. 

Somehow,  she  envied  the  woman  to  whom  that  hand 
belonged.  It  had  been  her  divine  right  to  kill,  and  yet 
another  took  it  from  her. 


26  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

Back  there  at  the  inn  she  had  said  to  the  astonished 
sheriff: 

"  Poor  thing,  if  she  can  escape  punishment  for  this, 
let  it  be  so.  I  shall  not  help  the  law  to  kill  her  simply 
because  she  took  it  in  her  own  hands  to  pay  that  man 
what  she  owed  him.  I  shall  not  be  the  one  to  say  that 
he  did  not  deserve  death  at  her  hands,  whoever  she 
may  be.  No,  I  shall  offer  no  reward.  If  you  catch 
her,  I  shall  be  sorry  for  her,  Mr.  Sheriff.  Believe  me, 
I  bear  her  no  grudge." 

"  But  she  robbed  him,"  the  sheriff  had  cried. 

"  From  my  point  of  view,  Mr.  Sheriff,  that  hasn't 
anything  to  do  with  the  case,"  was  her  significant 
reply. 

"  Of  course,  I  am  not  defending  him." 

"  Nor  am  I  defending  her,"  she  had  retorted.  "  It 
would  appear  that  she  is  able  to  defend  herself." 

Now,  on  the  cold,  trackless  road,  she  was  saying  to 
herself  that  she  did  have  a  grudge  against  the  woman 
who  had  destroyed  the  life  that  belonged  to  her,  who 
had  killed  the  thing  that  was  hers  to  kill.  She  could 
not  mourn  for  him.  She  could  only  wonder  what  the 
poor,  hunted  terrified  creature  would  do  when  taken  and 
made  to  pay  for  the  thing  she  had  done. 

Once,  in  the  course  of  her  bitter  reflections,  she 
spoke  aloud  in  a  shrill,  tense  voice,  forgetful  of  the 
presence  of  the  man  beside  her: 

"  Thank  God,  they  will  see  him  now  as  I  have  seen 
him  all  these  years.  They  will  know  him  as  they  have 
never  known  him.  Thank  God  for  that !  " 

The  man  looked  at  her  stupidly  and  muttered  some 
thing  under  his  breath.  She  heard  him,  and  recalling 
her  wits,  asked  which  turn  she  was  to  take  for  the  sta- 


THE  PASSING  OF  A  NIGHT  27 

tion.  The  fellow  lopped  back  in  the  seat,  too  drunk 
to  reply. 

For  a  moment  she  was  dismayed,  frightened.  Then 
she  resolutely  reached  out  and  shook  him  by  the  shoul 
der.  She  had  brought  the  car  to  a  full  stop. 

"  Arouse  yourself,  man !  "  she  cried.  "  Do  you  want 
to  freeze  to  death?  Where  is  the  station?  " 

He  straightened  up  with  an  effort,  and,  after  vainly 
seeking  light  in  the  darkness,  fell  back  again  with  a 
grunt,  but  managed  to  wave  his  hand  toward  the  left. 
She  took  the  chance.  In  five  minutes  she  brought  the 
•car  to  a  standstill  beside  the  station.  Through  the 
window  she  saw  a  man  with  his  feet  cocked  high,  read 
ing.  He  leaped  to  his  feet  in  amazement  as  she  entered 
the  waiting-room. 

"  Are  you  the  agent?  "  she  demanded. 

"  No,  ma'am.  I'm  simply  stayin'  here  for  the 
sheriff.  We're  lookin'  for  a  woman  —  Say ! "  He 
stopped  short  and  stared  at  the  veiled  face  with  wide, 
excited  eyes.  "  Gee  whiz !  Maybe  you  — " 

"  No,  I  am  not  the  woman  you  want.  Do  you  know 
anything  about  the  trains  ?  " 

"  I  guess  I'll  telephone  to  the  sheriff  before  I  — " 

"  If  you  will  step  outside  you  will  find  one  of  the 
sheriff's  deputies  in  my  automobile,  helplessly  intoxi 
cated.  I  am  Mrs.  Wrandall." 

"  Oh,"  he  gasped.  "  I  heard  'em  say  you  were  com 
ing  up  to-night.  Well,  say!  What  do  you  think 
of—" 

"  Is  there  a  train  in  before  morning?  " 

"  No  ma'am.     Seven-forty  is  the  first." 

She  waited  a  moment.  "  Then  I  shall  have  to  ask 
you  to  come  out  and  get  your  fellow-deputy.  He  is 


28  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

useless  to  me.  I  mean  to  go  on  in  the  machine.  The 
sheriff  understands." 

The  fellow  hesitated. 

"  I  cannot  take  him  with  me,  and  he  will  freeze  to 
death  if  I  leave  him  in  the  road.  Will  you  come?  " 

The  man  stared  at  her. 

"  Say,  is  it  your  husband?  "  he  asked  agape. 

She  nodded  her  head. 

"  Well,  I'll  go  out  and  have  a  look  at  the  fellow 
you've  got  with  you,"  said  he,  still  doubtful. 

She  stood  in  the  door  while  he  crossed  over  to  the 
car  and  peered  at  the  face  of  the  sleeper. 

"  Steve  Morley,"  he  said.     "  Fuller'n  a  goat." 

"  Please  remove  him  from  the  car,"  she  directed. 

Later  on,  as  he  stood  looking  down  at  the  inert  figure 
in  the  big  rocking  chair,  and  panting  from  his  labours, 
he  heard  her  say  patiently : 

"  And  now  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  direct  me  to  the 
Post-road." 

He  scratched  his  head.  "  This  is  mighty  queer,  the 
whole  business,"  he  declared,  assailed  by  doubts. 
"  Suppose  you  are  not  Mrs.  Wrandall,  but  —  the  other 
one.  What  then?" 

As  if  in  answer  to  his  question,  the  man  Morley 
opened  his  blear-eyes  and  tried  to  get  to  his  feet. 

"  Wha  —  what  are  we  doin'  here,  Mis'  Wran'all? 
Wha's  up?" 

"  Stay  where  you  are,  Steve,"  said  the  other.  "  It's 
all  right."  Then  he  went  forth  and  pointed  the  way 
to  her.  "  It's  a  long  ways  to  Columbus  Circle,"  he  said. 
"  I  don't  envy  you  the  trip.  Keep  straight  ahead  after 
you  hit  the  Post-road."  He  stood  there  listening  until 
the  whir  of  the  motor  was  lost  in  the  distance.  "  She'll 
never  make  it,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  It's  more  than  a 


THE  PASSING  OF  A  NIGHT  29 

strong  man  could  do  on  roads  like  these.  She  must  be 
crazy." 

Coming  to  the  Post-road,  she  increased  the  speed  of 
the  car,  with  the  sharp  wind  behind  her,  her  eyes  intent 
on  the  white  stretch  that  leaped  up  in  front  of  the  lamps 
like  a  blank  wall  beyond  which  there  was  nothing  but 
dense  oblivion.  But  for  the  fact  that  she  knew  that  this 
road  ran  straight  and  unobstructed  into  the  outskirts 
of  New  York,  she  might  have  lost  courage  and  decision. 
The  natural  confidence  of  an  experienced  driver  was 
hers.  She  had  the  daring  of  one  who  has  never  met 
with  an  accident,  and  who  trusts  to  the  instincts  rather 
than  to  an  actual  understanding  of  conditions.  With 
her,  it  was  not  a  question  of  her  own  capacity  and 
strength,  but  a  belief  in  the  fidelity  of  the  engine  that 
carried  her  forward.  It  had  not  occurred  to  her  that 
the  task  of  guiding  that  heavy,  swerving  thing  through 
the  unbroken  road  was  something  beyond  her  powers 
of  endurance.  She  often  had  driven  it  a  hundred  miles 
and  more  without  resting,  or  without  losing  zest  in  the 
enterprise:  then  why  should  she  fear  the  small  matter 
of  thirty  miles,  even  under  the  most  trying  of  condi 
tions  ? 

The  restless,  driving  desire  to  be  as  far  as  possible 
from  that  horrid  sight  at  the  inn,  with  all  that  went  to 
make  it  repellant,  put  strength  into  her  arms.  The 
car  swung  from  one  side  of  the  road  to  the  other,  pick 
ing  its  way  through  the  opaque  desert,  reeling  from 
rut  to  rut  past  hideous  shadows  and  deeper  into  the 
black  abyss  that  lay  ahead.  No  friendly  light  gleamed 
by  the  wayside ;  the  world  was  black  and  cold  and  dead. 
She  alone  was  on  the  highway,  the  only  human  creature 
who  defied  the  night.  Off  there  on  either  side  people 
lived,  and  slept,  and  were  in  darkness  just  as  she  was, 


30  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

but  not  in  dreadful  darkness.  They  were  not  pursued 
by  ghosts ;  they  were  not  running  away  from  a  Thing ! 
They  slept  and  were  at  peace,  and  their  lights  were 
out  for  they  were  not  afraid  in  the  dark.  She  thought 
of  it :  she  was  alone !  No  other  creature  was  abroad  — 
not  one! 

Sharply  there  came  to  her  mind  the  question:  was 
she  the  only  one  abroad  in  this  black  little  world? 
What  of  the  other  woman?  The  one  who  was  being 
hunted?  Where  was  she?  And  what  of  the  ghost  at 
her  heels? 

The  car  bounded  over  a  railroad  crossing.  She 
recalled  the  directions  given  by  the  man  at  the  station 
and  hastily  applied  the  brake.  There  was  another 
and  more  dangerous  crossing  a  hundred  yards  ahead. 
She  had  been  warned  particularly  to  take  it  carefully, 
as  there  was  a  sharp  curve  in  the  road  beyond. 

Suddenly  she  jammed  down  the  emergency  brake,  a 
startled  exclamation  falling  from  her  lips.  Not  twenty 
feet  ahead,  in  the  middle  of  the  road  and  directly  in 
line  with  the  light  of  the  lamps,  stood  a  black,  motion 
less  figure  —  the  figure  of  a  woman  whose  head  was 
lowered  and  whose  arms  hung  limply  at  her  sides. 

The  woman  in  the  car  bent  forward  over  the  wheel, 
staring  hard.  Many  seconds  passed.  At  last  the  for 
lorn  object  in  the  roadway  lifted  her  face  and  looked 
vacantly  into  the  glare  of  the  lamps.  Her  eyes  were 
wide-open,  her  face  a  ghastly  white. 

"  God  in  heaven !  "  struggled  from  the  stiffening  lips 
of  Sara  Wrandall.  Her  fingers  tightened  on  the  wheel. 

She  knew.     This  was  the  woman ! 

The  long  brown  ulster;  the  limp,  fluttering  veil! 
"  A  woman  about  your  size  and  figure,"  the  sheriff  had 
said. 


THE  PASSING  OF  A  NIGHT  SI 

The  figure  swayed  and  then  moved  a  few  steps  for 
ward.  Blinded  by  the  lights,  she  bent  her  head  and 
shielded  her  eyes  with  her  hand  the  better  to  glimpse 
the  occupant  of  the  car. 

"  Are  you  looking  for  me?  "  she  cried  out  shrilly,  at 
the  same  time  spreading  her  arms  as  if  in  surrender. 
It  was  almost  a  wail. 

Mrs.  Wrandall  caught  her  breath.  Her  heart  be 
gan  to  beat  once  more. 

"Who  are  you?  What  do  you  want?"  she  cried 
out,  without  knowing  what  she  said. 

The  girl  started.  She  had  not  expected  to  hear  the 
voice  of  a  woman.  She  staggered  to  the  side  of  the 
road,  out  of  the  line  of  light. 

"I  —  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  cried, —  it  was  like 
a  wail  of  disappointment,  — "  I  am  sorry  to  have 
stopped  you." 

"  Come  here,"  commanded  the  other,  still  staring. 

The  unsteady  figure  advanced.  Halting  beside  the 
car,  she  leaned  across  the  spare  tires  and  gazed  into 
the  eyes  of  the  driver.  Their  faces  were  not  more  than 
a  foot  apart,  their  eyes  were  narrowed  in  tense  scru 
tiny. 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  repeated  Mrs.  Wrandall,  her 
voice  hoarse  and  tremulous. 

"  I  am  looking  for  an  inn.  It  must  be  near  by.  I 
do—" 

"  An  inn  ?  "  with  a  start. 

"  I  do  not  recall  the  name.  It  is  not  far  from  a  vil 
lage,  in  the  hills." 

"  Do  you  mean  Burton's  ?  " 

"Yes.  That's  it.  Can  you  direct  me?"  The 
voice  of  the  girl  was  faint;  she  seemed  about  to  fall. 

"  It  is  six  or  eight  miles  from  here,"  said  Mrs.  Wran- 


32  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

dall,  still  looking  in  wonder  at  the  miserable  night- 
farer. 

The  girl's  head  sank ;  a  moan  of  despair  came 
through  her  lips,  ending  in  a  sob. 

"  So  far  as  that?  "  she  murmured.  Then  she  drew 
herself  up  with  a  fine  show  of  resolution.  "  But  I 
must  not  stop  here.  Thank  you." 

"  Wait !  "  cried  the  other.  The  girl  turned  to  her 
once  more.  "  Is  —  is  it  a  matter  of  life  or  death?  " 

There  was  a  long  silence.  "  Yes.  I  must  find  my 
way  there.  It  is  —  death." 

Sara  Wrandall  laid  her  heavily  gloved  hand  on  the 
slim  fingers  that  touched  the  tire. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  she  said,  a  shrill  note  of  resolve 
ringing  in  her  voice.  "  I  am  going  to  New  York. 
Won't  you  let  me  take  you  with  me?  " 

The  girl  drew  back,  wonder  and  apprehension  strug 
gling  for  the  mastery  of  her  eyes.  * 

"  But  I  am  bound  the  other  way.  To  the  inn.  I 
must  go  on." 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  Sara  Wrandall  firmly.  "  You 
must  not  go  back  there.  I  know  what  has  happened 
there.  Come !  I  will  take  care  of  you.  You  must 
not  go  to  the  inn." 

"  You  know?  "  faltered  the  girl. 

"  Yes.  You  poor  thing !  "  There  was  infinite  pity 
in  her  voice. 

The  girl  laid  her  head  on  her  arms. 

Mrs.  Wrandall  sat  above  her,  looking  down,  held 
mute  by  warring  emotions.  The  impossible  had  come 
to  pass.  The  girl  for  whom  the  whole  world  would 
be  searching  in  a  day  or  two,  had  stepped  out  of  the 
unknown  and,  by  the  most  whimsical  jest  of  fate,  into 
the  custody  of  the  one  person  most  interested  of  all 


THE  PASSING  OF  A  NIGHT  3$ 

in  that  self-same  world.  It  was  unbelievable.  She 
wondered  if  it  were  not  a  dream,  or  the  hallucination 
of  an  overwrought  mind.  Spurred  by  the  sudden 
doubt  as  to  the  reality  of  the  object  before  her,  she 
stretched  out  her  hand  and  touched  the  girl's  shoulder. 

Instantly  she  looked  up.  Her  fingers  sought  the 
friendly  hand  and  clasped  it  tightly. 

"  Oh,  if  you  will  only  take  me  to  the  city  with  you ! 
If  you  only  give  me  the  chance,"  she  cried  hoarsely. 
"  I  don't  know  what  impulse  was  driving  me  back 
there.  I  only  know  I  could  not  help  myself.  You 
really  mean  it?  You  will  take  me  with  you?  " 

"  Yes.  Don't  be  afraid.  Come  1  Get  in,"  said  the 
woman  in  the  car  rapidly.  "  You  —  you  are  real?  " 

The  girl  did  not  hear  the  strange  question.  She 
was  hurrying  around  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  car- 
As  she  crossed  before  the  lamps,  Mrs.  Wrandall  no 
ticed  with  dulled  interest  that  her  garments  were  cov 
ered  with  mud ;  her  small,  comely  hat  was  in  sad  dis 
order;  loose  wisps  of  hair  fluttered  with  the  unsightly 
veil.  Her  hands,  she  recalled,  were  clad  in  thin  suede 
gloves.  She  would  be  half-frozen.  She  had  been  out 
in  all  this  terrible  weather, —  perhaps  since  the  hour  of 
her  flight  from  the  inn. 

The  odd  feeling  of  pity  grew  stronger  within  heiv 
She  made  no  effort  to  analyse  it,  nor  to  account  for  it.. 
Why  should  she  pity  the  slayer  of  her  husband?  It 
was  a  question  unasked,  unconsidered.  Afterwards 
she  was  to  recall  this  hour  and  its  strange  impulses, 
and  to  realise  that  it  was  not  pity,  but  mercy  that 
moved  her  to  do  the  extraordinary  thing  that  followed. 

Trembling  all  over,  her  teeth  chattering,  her  breath 
coming  in  short  little  moans,  the  girl  struggled  up  be 
side  her  and  fell  back  in  the  seat.  Without  a  word,. 


34  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

Sara  Wrandall  drew  the  great  buffalo  robe  over  her 
and  tucked  it  in  about  her  feet  and  legs  and  far  up 
about  her  body,  which  had  slumped  down  in  the  seat. 

"  You  are  very,  very  good,"  chattered  the  girl,  al 
most  inaudibly.  "  I  shall  never  forget  — "  She  did 
not  complete  the  sentence,  but  sat  upright  and  fixed 
her  gaze  on  her  companion's  face.  "  You  —  you  are 
not  doing  this  just  to  turn  me  over  to  —  to  the  police? 
They  must  be  searching  for  me.  You  are  not  going  to 
give  me  up  to  them,  are  you?  There  will  be  a  reward 
I—" 

"  There  is  no  reward,"  said  Sara  Wrandall  sharply. 
"  I  do  not  mean  to  give  you  up.  I  am  simply  giving 
you  a  chance  to  get  away.  I  have  always  felt  sorry 
for  the  fox  when  the  time  for  the  kill  drew  near. 
That's  the  way  I  feel." 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  Thank  you !  But  what  am  I  say 
ing?  Why  should  I  permit  you  to  do  this  for  me?  I 
meant  to  go  back  there  and  have  it  over  with.  I  know 
I  can't  escape.  It  will  have  to  come,  it  is  bound  to 
come.  Why  put  it  off?  Let  them  take  me,  let  them 
do  what  they  will  with  me.  I  — " 

"  Hush !  We'll  see.  First  of  all,  understand  me : 
I  shall  not  turn  you  over  to  the  police.  I  will  give  you 
the  chance.  I  will  help  you.  I  can  do  no  more  than 
that." 

"  But  why  should  you  help  me  ?  I  —  I  —  Oh,  I  can't 
let  you  do  it !  You  do  not  understand.  I  —  have  — 
committed!  —  a  —  terrible  — "  she  broke  off  with  a 
groan. 

"  I  understand,"  said  the  other,  something  like  grim- 
ness  in  her  level  tones.  "  I  have  been  tempted  more 
than  once  myself."  The  enigmatic  remark  made  no 
impression  on  the  listener. 


THE  PASSING  OF  A  NIGHT  35 

"  I  wonder  how  long  ago  it  was  that  it  all  hap 
pened,"  muttered  the  girl,  as  if  to  herself.  "  It  seems 
ages, —  oh,  such  ages." 

"Where  have  you  been  hiding  since  last  night?" 
asked  Mrs.  Wrandall,  throwing  in  the  clutch.  The 
car  started  forward  with  a  jerk,  kicking  up  the  snow 
behind  it. 

"Was  it  only  last  night?  Oh,  I've  been — "  The 
thought  of  her  sufferings  from  exposure  and  dread  was 
too  much  for  the  wretched  creature.  She  broke  out  in 
a  soft  wail. 

"You've  been  out  in  all  this  weather?"  demanded 
the  other. 

"  I  lost  my  way.  In  the  hills  back  there.  I  don't 
know  where  I  was." 

"  Had  you  no  place  of  shelter?  " 

"  Where  could  I  seek  shelter?  I  spent  the  day  in  the 
cellar  of  a  farmer's  house.  He  didn't  know  I  was 
there.  I  have  had  no  food." 

"  Why  did  you  kill  that  man?  " 

"  There  was  nothing  left  for  me  to  do  but  that." 

"  And  why  did  you  rob  him?  " 

"  Ah,  I  had  ample  time  to  think  of  all  that.  You 
may  tell  the  officers  they  will  find  everything  hidden  in 
that  farmhouse  cellar.  God  knows  I  did  not  want 
them.  I  am  not  a  thief.  I'm  not  so  bad  as  that." 

Mrs.  Wrandall  marvelled.  "Not  so  bad  as  that!" 
And  she  was  a  murderess,  a  wanton ! 

"  You  are  hungry?     You  must  be  famished." 

"  No,  I  am  not  hungry.  I  have  not  thought  of 
food."  She  said  it  in  such  a  way  that  the  other  knew 
what  her  whole  mind  had  been  given  over  to  since  the 
night  before. 

A  fresh  impulse  seized  her.     "  You  shall  have  food 


36  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

and  a  place  where  you  can  sleep  —  and  rest,"  she  said. 
"  Now  please  don't  say  anything  more.  I  do  not  want 
to  know  too  much.  The  least  you  say  to-night,  the 
better  for  —  for  both  of  us." 

With  that  she  devoted  all  of  her  attention  to  the  car, 
increasing  the  speed  considerably.  Far  ahead  she 
could  see  twinkling,  will-o'-the-wisp  lights,  the  first 
signs  of  thickly  populated  districts.  They  were  still 
eight  or  ten  miles  from  the  outskirts  of  the  city  and  the 
way  was  arduous.  She  was  conscious  of  a  sudden  feel 
ing  of  fatigue.  The  chill  of  the  night  seemed  to  have 
made  itself  felt  with  abrupt,  almost  stupefying  force. 
She  wondered  if  she  could  keep  her  strength,  her  cour 
age, —  her  nerves. 

The  girl  was  English.  Mrs.  Wrandall  was  convinced 
of  the  fact  almost  immediately.  Unmistakably  Eng 
lish  and  apparently  of  the  cultivated  type.  In  fact, 
the  peculiarities  of  speech  that  determines  the  London 
show-girl  or  music-hall  character  were  wholly  lacking. 
Her  voice,  her  manner,  even  under  such  trying  condi 
tions,  were  characteristic  of  the  English  woman  of 
cultivation.  Despite  the  dreadful  strain  under  which 
she  laboured,  there  were  evidences  of  that  curious  se 
renity  which  marks  the  English  woman  of  the  better 
classes :  an  inborn  composure,  a  calm  orderliness  of 
the  emotions.  Mrs.  Wrandall  was  conscious  of  a  sense 
of  surprise,  of  a  wonder  that  increased  as  her  thoughts 
resolved  themselves  into  something  less  chaotic  than 
they  were  at  the  time  of  contact  with  this  visible  condi 
tion. 

For  a  mile  or  more,  she  sent  the  car  along  with 
Teckless  disregard  for  comfort  or  safety.  Her  mind 
was  groping  for  something  tangible  in  the  way  of  in 
tentions.  What  was  she  to  do  with  this  creature? 


THE  PASSING  OF  A  NIGHT  37 

What  was  to  become  of  her?  At  what  street  corner 
should  she  turn  her  adrift?  The  idea  of  handing  her 
over  to  the  police  did  not  enter  her  thoughts  for  an 
instant.  Somehow  she  felt  that  the  girl  was  a  stranger 
to  the  city.  She  could  not  explain  the  feeling,  yet  it 
was  with  her  and  very  persistent.  Of  course,  there 
was  a  home  of  some  sort,  or  lodgings,  or  friends,  but 
wTould  the  girl  dare  show  herself  in  familiar  haunts? 

She  had  said  to  the  sheriff  that  she  hoped  the  slayer 
of  her  husband  would  never  be  caught.  She  recalled 
her  words,  and  she  remembered  how  sincere  she  had  been 
in  uttering  them.  But  she  had  not  figured  on  herself 
as  an  instrument  in  furthering  the  hope  to  the  point 
of  actual  realisation.  What  could  be  more  incon 
gruous,  more  theatric, —  yes,  more  bizarre,  than  her 
attitude  at  this  moment?  It  seemed  impossible  that 
this  shrinking,  inert  heap  at  her  side  was  a  living 
thing;  a  woman  who  had  slain  a  fellow  creature,  and 
that  creature  the  man  who  had  been  her  husband  for 
six  years.  It  seemed  utterly  beyond  sense  or  reason 
that  she  should  be  helping  this  murderess  to  escape, 
that  she  should  be  showing  her  the  slightest  sign  of 
mercy.  And  yet,  it  was  all  true.  She  was  helping  her, 
she  was  befriending  her. 

She  found  herself  wondering  why  the  poor  wretch 
had  not  made  way  with  herself.  Escape  seemed  out 
of  the  question.  That  must  have  been  clear  to  her 
from  the  beginning,  else  why  was  she  going  back  there 
to  give  herself  up?  What  better  way  out  of  it  all 
than  self-destruction?  Sara  Wrandall  reached  a  sud 
den  conclusion.  She  would  advise  the  girl  to  leave  the 
car  when  they  reached  the  centre  of  a  certain  bridge 
that  spanned  the  river!  No  one  would  find 
her 


38  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

Even  as  the  thought  took  shape  in  her  mind,  she  ex 
perienced  a  great  sense  of  awe,  so  overwhelming  that 
she  cried  out  with  the  horror  of  it.  She  turned  her 
head  for  a  quick  glance  at  the  mute,  wretched  face 
showing  white  above  the  robe,  and  her  heart  ached  with 
sudden  pity  for  her.  The  thought  of  that  slender, 
alive  thing  going  down  to  the  icy  waters  —  her  soul 
turned  sick  with  the  dread  of  it ! 

In  that  instant,  Sara  Wrandall  —  no  philanthro 
pist,  no  sentimentalist  —  made  up  her  mind  to  give  this 
erring  one  more  than  an  even  chance  for  salvation.  She 
would  see  her  safely  across  that  bridge  and  many  oth 
ers.  God  had  directed  the  footsteps  of  this  girl  so 
that  she  should  fall  in  with  the  one  best  qualified  to 
pass  judgment  on  her.  It  was  in  that  person's  power 
to  save  her  or  destroy  her.  The  commandment, 
"  Thou  shalt  not  kill,"  took  on  a  broader  meaning  as 
she  considered  the  power  that  was  hers:  the  power  to 
kill. 

Back  of  all  these  finely  human  impulses  was  the  mys 
terious  arbiter  that  makes  great  decisions  for  all  of  us, 
from  which  there  can  be  no  appeal,  and  which  brooks 
no  argument:  Self.  Self  it  was  that  put  a  single 
question  to  her  and  answered  it  as  well:  what  personal 
grievance  had  she  against  this  unhappy  girl?  None 
whatever.  Self  it  was  therefore  that  slyly  thanked 
her  for  an  unspeakable  blessing:  she  had  brought  to 
an  end  not  only  the  life  of  her  husband  but  the  false 
position  she  herself  had  been  obliged  to  maintain 
through  a  mistaken  sense  of  duty  and  self-respect. 
And  who  was  to  say,  outside  the  law,  that  this  frail 
girl  had  not  just  cause  to  slay? 

A  great  relaxation  came  over  Sara  Wrandall.  It 
was  as  if  every  nerve,  every  muscle  in  her  body  had 


THE  PASSING  OF  A  NIGHT  39 

reached  the  snapping  point  and  suddenly  had  given 
way.  For  a  moment  her  hands  were  weak  and  power 
less  ;  her  head  fell  forward.  In  an  instant  she  con 
quered, —  but  only  partially, —  the  strange  feeling  of 
lassitude.  Then  she  realised  how  tired  she  was,  how 
fiercely  the  strain  had  told  on  her  body  and  brain,  how 
much  she  had  really  suffered. 

Her  blurred  eyes  turned  once  more  for  a  look  at  the 
girl,  who  sat  there,  just  as  she  had  been  sitting  for 
miles,  her  white  face  standing  out  with  almost  unnat 
ural  clearness,  and  as  rigid  as  that  of  the  sphinx. 

The  girl  spoke.  "  Do  they  hang  women  in  this 
country?  " 

Mrs.  Wrandall  started.  "  In  some  of  the  States,"" 
she  replied,  and  was  unable  to  account  for  the  swift 
impulse  to  evade. 

"  But  in  this  State  ?  "  persisted  the  other,  almost 
without  a  movement  of  the  lips. 

"  They  send  them  to  the  electric  chair  —  sometimes,'* 
said  Mrs.  Wrandall. 

There  was  a  long  silence  between  them,  broken  finally 
by  the  girl. 

"  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me,  madam.  I  have 
no  means  of  expressing  my  gratitude.  I  can  only  say 
that  I  shall  bless  you  to  my  dying  hour.  May  I 
trouble  you  to  set  me  down  at  the  bridge?  I  remem 
ber  crossing  one.  I  shall  be  able  to  — " 

"  No ! "  cried  Mrs.  Wrandall  shrilly,  divining  the 
other's  intention  at  once.  "  You  shall  not  do  that.  I 
too  thought  of  that  as  a  way  out  of  it  for  you,  but  — 
no,  it  must  not  be  that.  Give  me  a  few  minutes  to 
think.  I  will  find  a  way." 

The  girl  turned  toward  her.  Her  eyes  were  burn 
ing. 


40 

"  Do  you  ir^an  that  you  will  help  me  to  get  away?  " 
she  cried,  s!  >•,  ^  incredulously. 

"  Let  me  tlilnk !  " 

"  You  will  lay  yourself  liable  — " 

"  Let  me  think,  I  say." 

"  But  I  mean  to  surrender  myself  to  — " 

"  An  hour  ago  you  meant  to  do  it,  but  what  were  you 
thinking  of  ten  minutes  ago?  Not  surrender.  You 
were  thinking  of  the  bridge.  Listen  to  me  now:  I  am 
sure  that  I  can  save  you.  I  do  not  know  all  the  —  all 
the  circumstances  connected  with  your  association  with 
• — with  that  man  back  there  at  the  inn.  Twenty-four 
hours  passed  before  they  were  able  to  identify  him. 
It  is  not  unlikely  that  to-morrow  may  put  them  in 
possession  of  the  name  of  the  woman  who  went  with 
him  to  that  place.  They  do  not  know  it  to-night,  of 
that  I  am  positive.  You  covered  your  trail  too  well. 
But  you  must  have  been  seen  with  him  during  the  day 
or  the  night  —  " 

The  other  broke  in  eagerly :  "  I  don't  believe  any  one 
knows  that  I  —  that  I  went  out  there  with  him.  He 
arranged  it  very  —  carefully.  Oh,  what  a  beast  he 
was !  "  The  bitterness  of  that  wail  caused  the  woman 
beside  her  to  cry  out  as  if  hurt  by  a  sharp,  almost  un 
bearable  pain.  For  an  instant  she  seemed  about  to 
lose  control  of  herself.  The  car  swerved  and  came 
dangerously  near  to  leaving  the  road. 

A  full  minute  passed  before  she  could  trust  herself 
to  speak.  Then  it  was  with  a  deep  hoarseness  in  her 
voice. 

"  You  can  tell  me  about  it  later  on,  not  now.  I 
don't  want  to  hear  it.  Tell  me,  where  do  you  live?  " 

The  girl's  manner  changed  so  absolutely  that  there 
could  be  but  one  inference :  she  was  acutely  suspicious. 


THE  PASSING  OF  A  NIGHT  41 

Her  lips  tightened  and  her  figure  seemed  to  stiffen  in 
in  the  seat. 

"Where  do  you  live?"  repeated  the  other  sharply. 

"  Why  should  I  tell  you  that  ?  I  do  not  know  you. 
You  — " 

"  You  are  afraid  of  me?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  to  say,  or  what  to  do," 
came  from  the  lips  of  the  hunted  one.  "  I  have  no 
friends,  no  one  to  turn  to,  no  one  to  help  me.  You  — 
you  can't  be  so  heartless  as  to  lead  me  on  and  then  give 
me  up  to  —  God  help  me,  I  —  I  should  not  be  made 
to  suffer  for  what  I  have  done.  If  you  only  knew  the 
circumstances.  If  you  only  knew  — " 

"  Stop !  "  cried  the  other,  in  agony. 

The  girl  was  bewildered.  "  You  are  so  strange. 
I  don't  understand — " 

"  We  have  but  two  or  three  miles  to  go,"  interrupted 
Mrs.  Wrandall.  "  We  must  think  hard  and  —  rapidly. 
Are  you  willing  to  come  with  me  to  my  hotel?  You 
will  be  safe  there  for  the  present.  To-morrow  we  can 
plan  something  for  the  future." 

"  If  I  can  only  find  a  place  to  rest  for  a  little  while," 
began  the  other. 

"  I  shall  be  busy  all  day,  you  will  not  be  disturbed. 
But  leave  the  rest  to  me.  I  shall  find  a  way." 

It  was  nearly  three  o'clock  when  she  brought  the  car 
to  a  stop  in  front  of  a  small,  exclusive  hotel  not  far 
from  Central  Park.  The  street  was  dark  and  the  vesti 
bule  was  but  dimly  lighted.  No  attendant  was  in 
sight. 

"  Slip  into  this,"  commanded  Mrs.  Wrandall,  begin 
ning  to  divest  herself  of  her  own  fur  coat.  "  It  will 
cover  your  muddy  garments.  I  am  quite  warmly 
dressed.  Don't  worry.  Be  quick.  For  the  time  being 


42  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

you  are  my  guest  here.  You  will  not  be  questioned. 
No  one  need  know  who  you  are.  It  will  not  matter  if 
you  look  distressed.  You  have  just  heard  of  the 
dreadful  thing  that  has  happened  to  me.  You  — " 

"  Happened  to  you  ?  "  cried  the  girl,  drawing  the 
coat  about  her. 

"  A  member  of  my  family  has  died.  They  know 
it  in  the  hotel  by  this  time.  I  was  called  to  the  death 
bed  —  to-night.  That  is  all  you  will  have  to  know." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sorry  — " 

"  Come,  let  us  go  in.  When  we  reach  my  rooms,  you 
may  order  food  and  drink.  You  must  do  it,  not  I. 
Please  try  to  remember  that  it  is  I  who  am  suffering, 
not  you." 

A  sleepy  night  watchman  took  them  up  in  the  ele 
vator.  He  was  not  even  interested.  Mrs.  Wrandall 
did  not  speak,  but  leaned  rather  heavily  on  the  arm  of 
her  companion.  The  door  had  no  sooner  closed  be 
hind  them  when  the  girl  collapsed.  She  sank  to  the 
floor  in  a  heap. 

"  Get  up !  "  commanded  her  hostess  sharply.  This 
was  not  the  time  for  soft,  persuasive  words.  "  Get 
up  at  once.  You  are  young  and  strong.  You  must 
show  the  stuff  you  are  made  of  now  if  you  ever  mean  to 
show  it.  I  cannot  help  you  if  you  quail." 

The  girl  looked  up  piteously,  and  then  struggled  to 
her  feet.  She  stood  before  her  protectress,  weaving 
like  a  frail  reed  in  the  wind,  pallid  to  the  lips. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  murmured.  "  I  will  not 
give  way  like  that  again.  I  dare  say  I'm  faint.  I  have 
had  no  food,  no  rest  —  but  never  mind  that  now.  Tell 
me  what  I  am  to  do.  I  will  try  to  obey." 

"  First  of  all,  get  out  of  those  muddy,  frozen  things 
you  have  on." 


THE  PASSING  OF  A  NIGHT  43 

Mrs.  Wrandall  herself  moved  stiffly  and  with  un 
steady  limbs  as  she  began  to  remove  her  own  outer 
garments.  The  girl  mechanically  followed  her  ex 
ample.  She  was  a  pitiable  object  in  the  strong  light 
of  the  electrolier.  Muddy  from  head  to  foot,  water- 
stained  and  bedraggled,  her  face  streaked  with  dirt, 
she  was  the  most  unattractive  creature  one  could  well 
imagine. 

These  women,  so  strangely  thrown  together  by  Fate, 
maintained  an  unbroken  silence  during  the  long,  fum 
bling  process  of  partial  disrobing.  They  scarcely 
looked  at  one  another,  and  yet  they  were  acutely  con 
scious  of  the  interest  each  felt  in  the  other.  The 
grateful  warmth  of  the  room,  the  abrupt  transition 
from  gloom  and  cheerlessness  to  comfortable  obscur 
ity,  had  a  more  pronounced  effect  on  the  stranger 
than  on  her  hostess. 

"  It  is  good  to  feel  warm  once  more,"  she  said,  an 
odd  timidness  in  her  manner.  "  You  are  very  good  to 
me." 

They  were  in  Mrs.  Wrandall's  bed-chamber,  just  off 
the  little  sitting-room.  Three  or  four  trunks  stood 
against  the  walls. 

"  I  dismissed  my  maid  on  landing.  She  robbed  me," 
said  Mrs.  Wrandall,  voicing  the  relief  that  was  upper 
most  in  her  mind.  She  opened  a  closet  door  and  took 
out  a  thick  eider-down  robe,  which  she  tossed  across 
a  chair.  "  Now  call  up  the  office  and  say  that  you 
are  speaking  for  me.  Say  to  them  that  I  must  have 
something  to  eat,  no  matter  what  the  hour  may  be. 
I  will  get  out  some  clean  underwear  for  you,  and  — 
Oh,  yes ;  if  they  ask  about  me,  say  that  I  am  cold  and 
ill.  That  is  sufficient.  Here  is  the  bath.  Please  be 
as  quick  about  it  as  possible." 


44  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

Moving  as  if  in  a  dream,  the  girl  did  as  she  was 
told.  Twenty  minutes  later  there  was  a  knock  at  the 
door.  A  waiter  appeared  with  a  tray  and  service 
table.  He  found  Mrs.  Wrandall  lying  back  in  a  chair, 
attended  by  a  slender  young  woman  in  a  pink  eider 
down  dressing-gown,  who  gave  hesitating  directions 
to  him.  Then  he  was  dismissed  with  a  handsome  tip, 
produced  by  the  same  young  woman. 

"  You  are  not  to  return  for  these  things,"  she  said 
as  he  went  out. 

In  silence  she  ate  and  drank,  her  hostess  looking  on 
with  gloomy  interest.  It  was  no  shock  to  Mrs.  Wran 
dall  to  find  that  the  girl,  who  was  no  more  than  twenty- 
two  or  three,  possessed  unusual  beauty.  Her  great 
eyes  were  blue, —  the  lovely  Irish  blue, —  her  skin  was 
fair  and  smooth,  her  features  regular  and  of  the  deli 
cate  mould  that  defines  the  well-bred  gentlewoman  at 
a  glance.  Her  hair,  now  in  order,  was  dark  and  thick 
and  lay  softly  about  her  small  ears  and  neck.  She  was 
not  surprised,  I  repeat,  for  she  had  never  known  Challis 
Wrandall  to  show  interest  in  any  but  the  most  at 
tractive  of  her  sex.  She  found  herself  smiling  bitterly 
as  she  looked. 

To  herself  she  was  saying:  "  It  isn't  so  hard  to  bear 
when  I  realise  that  he  betrayed  me  for  one  who  is  so 
much  more  beautiful  than  I.  He  loved  me  because  I  am 
beautiful.  His  every  defection  proves  it.  The  oth 
ers  have  all  been  beautiful.  And  to  think  that  this 
gentle,  slender  creature  should  have  been  the  one  to 
give  him  his  death-blow.  It  seems  incredible.  If  it 
had  been  struck  by  some  outraged  husband,  strong  of 
arm  and  fierce  with  vengeance,  I  could  understand. 
But  —  but  this  young,  pretty,  soft-eyed  thing !  " 

But  who  may  know  the  thoughts  of  the  other  occu- 


THE  PASSING  OF  A  NIGHT  45 

pant  of  that  little  sitting-room?  Who  can  put  her 
self  in  the  place  of  that  despairing,  hunted  creature 
who  knew  that  blood  was  on  the  hands  with  which  she 
ate,  and  whose  eyes  were  filled  with  visions  of  the  death- 
chair? 

So  great  was  her  fatigue  that  long  before  she  fin 
ished  the  meal  her  tired  lids  began  to  droop,  her  head 
to  nod  in  spasmodic  surrenders  to  an  overpowering  de 
sire  for  sleep.  Suddenly  she  dropped  the  fork  from 
her  fingers  and  sank  back  in  the  comfortable  chair, 
her  head  resting  against  the  soft,  upholstered  back. 
Her  lids  fell,  her  hands  dropped  to  the  arms  of  the 
chair.  A  fine  line  appeared  between  her  dark  eye 
brows, —  indicative  of  pain. 

For  many  minutes  Sara  Wrandall  watched  the  hag- 
gardness  deepen  in  the  face  of  the  unconscious  sleeper. 
Then,  even  as  she  wondered  at  the  act,  she  went  over 
and  took  up  one  of  the  slim  hands  in  her  own.  The 
hand  of  an  aristocrat !  It  lay  limp  in  hers,  and  help 
less.  Long,  tapering  fingers  and  delicately  pink  with 
the  return  of  warmth. 

Rousing  herself  from  the  mute  contemplation  of 
her  charge,  she  shook  the  girl's  shoulder.  Instantly 
she  was  awake  and  staring,  alarm  in  her  dazed,  bewil 
dered  eyes. 

"  You  must  go  to  bed,"  said  Mrs.  Wrandall  quietly. 
"  Don't  be  afraid.  No  one  will  think  of  coming  here." 

The  girl  arose.  As  she  stood  before  her  benefactress, 
she  heard  her  murmur  as  if  from  afar-off:  "  Just  about 
your  size  and  figure,"  and  wondered  not  a  little. 

"  You  may  sleep  late.  I  have  many  things  to  do 
and  you  will  not  be  disturbed.  Come,  take  off  your 
clothes  and  get  into  my  bed.  To-morrow  we  will 
plan  further — " 


46  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  But,  madam,"  cried  the  girl,  "  I  cannot  take  your 
bed.  Where  are  you  to  — " 

"  If  I  feel  like  lying  down,  I  shall  lie  there  beside 
you." 

The  girl  stared.     "  Lie  beside  me?  " 

"  Yes.  Oh,  I  am  not  afraid  of  you,  child.  You  are 
not  a  monster.  You  are  just  a  poor,  tired  — " 

"  Oh,  please  don't !  Please !  "  cried  the  other,  tears 
rushing  to  her  eyes.  She  raised  Mrs.  Wrandall's  hand 
to  her  lips  and  covered  it  with  kisses. 

Long  after  she  went  to  sleep,  Sara  Wrandall  stood 
beside  the  bed,  looking  down  at  the  pain-stricken  face, 
and  tried  to  solve  the  problem  that  suddenly  had  be 
come  a  part  of  her  very  existence. 

"  It  is  not  friendship,"  she  argued  fiercely.  "  It  is 
not  charity,  it  is  not  humanity.  It's  the  debt  I  owe, 
that's  all.  She  did  the  thing  for  me  that  I  could  not 
have  done  myself  because  I  loved  him.  I  owe  her 
something  for  that." 

Later  on  she  turned  her  attention  to  the  trunks. 
Her  decision  was  made.  With  ruthless  hands  she 
dragged  gown  after  gown  from  the  "  innovations  "  and 
cast  them  over  chairs,  on  the  floor,  across  the  foot  of 
the  bed :  smart  things  from  Paris  and  Vienna ;  ball 
gowns,  street  gowns,  tea  gowns,  lingerie,  blouses,  hats, 
gloves  and  all  of  the  countless  things  that  a  woman 
of  fashion  and  means  indulges  herself  in  when  she  goes 
abroad  for  that  purpose  and  no  other  to  speak  of. 
From  the  closets  she  drew  forth  New  York  "  tailor- 
suits  "  and  other  garments. 

Until  long  after  six  o'clock  she  busied  herself  over 
this  huge  pile  of  costly  raiment,  portions  of  which  she 
had  worn  but  once  or  twice,  some  not  at  all,  selecting 
certain  dresses,  hats,  stockings,  etc.,  each  of  which 


THE  PASSING  OF  A  NIGHT  47 

she  laid  carelessly  aside:  an  imposing  pile  of  many 
hues,  all  bright  and  gay  and  glittering.  In  another 
heap  she  laid  the  sombre  things  of  black:  a  meagre 
assortment  as  compared  to  the  other. 

Then  she  stood  back  and  surveyed  the  two  heaps 
with  tired  eyes,  a  curious,  almost  scornful  smile  on  her 
lips.  "  There !  "  she  said  with  a  sigh.  "  The  black 
pile  is  mine,  the  gay  pile  is  yours,"  she  went  on,  turn 
ing  toward  the  sleeping  girl.  "  What  a  travesty !  " 

Then  she  gathered  up  the  soiled  garments  her  charge 
had  worn  and  cast  them  into  the  bottom  of  a  trunk, 
which  she  locked.  Laying  out  a  carefully  selected  as 
sortment  of  her  own  garments  for  the  girl's  use  when 
she  arose,  Mrs.  Wrandall  sat  down  beside  the  bed  and 
waited,  knowing  that  sleep  would  not  come  to  her. 


CHAPTER    III 

HETTY    CASTLETON 

AT  half-past  six  she  went  to  the  telephone  and  called 
for  the  morning  newspapers.  At  the  same  time  she 
asked  that  a  couple  of  district  messenger  boys  be 
sent  to  her  room  with  the  least  possible  delay.  The 
hushed,  scared  voice  of  the  telephone  girl  downstairs 
convinced  her  that  news  of  the  tragedy  was  abroad ; 
she  could  imagine  the  girl  looking  at  the  headlines  with 
awed  eyes  even  as  she  responded  to  the  call  from  room 
416,  and  her  shudder  as  she  realised  that  it  was  the  wife 
of  the  dead  man  speaking. 

One  of  the  night  clerks,  pale  and  agitated,  came  up 
with  the  papers.  He  inquired  if  there  was  anything  he 
could  do.  He  tried  to  tell  her  that  it  was  a  dreadful, 
sickening  thing,  but  the  words  stuck  in  his  throat.  She 
stood  before  him,  holding  the  door  open ;  the  light  in 
the  hall  fell  upon  her  white,  haggard  face.  He  began 
to  tremble  all  over,  as  if  with  the  ague. 

"Will  you  be  good  enough  to  come  in?"  she  in 
quired,  quite  steadily.  "  The  newspapers  —  have  they 
printed  the  —  the  details?" 

He  entered  and  she  closed  the  door. 

"Just  the  —  just  the  news  that  it  was  Mr.  Wran- 
dall,"  he  replied  jerkily.  "Later  on  they'll  have — " 

She  interrupted  him.  "  Let  me  have  them,  please." 
Without  so  much  as  a  glance  at  the  headlines,  she 
tossed  the  papers  on  the  table.  "  I  have  sent  for  two 
messenger  boys.  It  is  too  early  to  accomplish  much 
by  telephone,  I  fear.  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  tele 
phone  at  seven  o'clock  or  a  little  after  to  my  apart- 

48 


HETTY  CASTLETON  49 

ment?  —  You  will  find  the  number  under  Mr.  Wran- 
dall's  name.  Please  inform  the  butler  or  his  wife  that 
they  may  expect  me  by  ten  o'clock,  and  that  I  shall 
bring  a  friend  with  me  —  a  young  lady.  Kindly  have 
my  motor  sent  to  Haffner's  garage,  and  looked  after. 
When  the  reporters  come,  as  they  will,  please  say  to 
them  that  I  will  see  them  at  my  own  home  at  eleven 
o'clock." 

"  Can't  I  —  we  —  I  should  say,  don't  you  want  us 
to  send  word  to  your  —  your  friends,  Mrs.  Wrandall, — 
the  family,  I  mean  ?  No  trouble  to  do  it,  and  — 

"  Thank  you,  no.  The  messengers  will  attend  to  all 
that  is  necessary.  When  my  lawyer  arrives,  please 
3end  him  here  to  me.  Mr.  Carroll.  Thank  you." 

The  clerk,  considerably  relieved,  took  his  departure 
in  some  haste,  and  she  was  left  with  the  morning  papers, 
each  of  which  she  scanned  rapidly.  The  details,  of 
course,  were  meagre.  There  was  a  double-leaded  ac 
count  of  her  visit  to  the  inn  and  her  extraordinary 
return  to  the  city.  Her  chief  interest,  however,  did 
not  rest  in  these  particulars,  but  in  the  speculations  of 
the  authorities  as  to  the  identity  of  the  myster 
ious  woman  —  and  her  whereabouts.  There  was  the 
likelihood  that  she  was  not  the  only  one  who 
had  encountered  the  girl  on  the  highway  or  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  inn.  So  far  as  she  could  glean 
from  the  reports,  however,  no  one  had  seen  the  girl, 
nor  was  there  the  slightest  hint  offered  as  to  her 
identity.  The  papers  of  the  previous  afternoon  had 
published  lurid  accounts  of  the  murder,  with  all  of 
the  known  details,  the  name  of  the  victim  at  that  time 
still  being  a  mystery.  She  remembered  reading  the 
story  with  no  little  interest.  The  only  new  feature 
in  the  case,  therefore,  was  the  identification  of  Challis 


50  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

Wrandall  by  his  "  beautiful  wife,"  and  the  sensational 
manner  in  which  it  had  been  brought  about.  With 
considerable  interest  she  noted  the  hour  that  these 
despatches  had  been  received  from  "  special  correspond 
ents,"  and  wondered  where  the  shrewd,  lynx-eyed  re 
porters  napped  while  she  was  at  the  inn.  All  of  the 
despatches  were  timed  three  o'clock  and  each  paper 
characterised  its  issue  as  an  "  Extra,"  with  Challis 
Wrandall's  name  in  huge  type  across  as  many  columns 
as  the  dignity  of  the  sheet  permitted. 

Not  one  word  of  the  girl!     Absolute  mystery! 

Mrs.  Wrandall  returned  to  her  post  beside  the  bed 
of  the  sleeper  in  the  adjoining  room.  Deliberately  she 
placed  the  newspapers  on  a  chair  near  the  girl's  pil 
low,  and  then  raised  the  window  shades  to  let  in  the 
hard  grey  light  of  early  morn. 

It  was  not  her  present  intention  to  arouse  the  wan 
stranger,  who  slept  as  one  dead.  So  gentle  was  her 
breathing  that  the  watcher  stared  in  some  fear  at  the 
fair,  smooth  breast  that  seemed  scarcely  to  rise  and  fall. 
For  a  long  time  she  stood  beside  the  bed,  looking  down 
at  the  face  of  the  sleeper,  a  troubled  expression  in  her 
eyes. 

"  I  wonder  how  many  times  you  were  seen  with  him, 
and  where,  and  by  whom,"  were  the  questions  that  ran 
in  a  single  strain  through  her  mind.  "  Where  do  you 
come  from?  Where  did  you  meet  him?  Who  is  there 
that  knows  of  your  acquaintance  with  him?  " 

There  was  no  kindly  light  in  her  eyes,  nor  was 
there  the  faintest  sign  of  animosity.  Merely  the  look 
of  one  who  calculates  in  the  interest  of  a  well-shaped 
purpose.  She  was  estimating  the  difficulties  that  were 
likely  to  attend  the  carrying  out  of  a  design  as  yet  half- 
formed  and  quixotic.  There  were  many  things  to  be 


HETTY  CASTLETON  51 

r      •  •• 

considered.     At  present  she  was  working  in  utter  dark 
ness.     What  would  the  light  bring  forth? 

Her  lawyer  came  in  great  haste  and  perturbation 
at  eight  o'clock,  in  response  to  the  letter  delivered  by 
one  of  the  messengers.  A  second  letter  had  gone  by 
like  means  to  her  husband's  brother,  Leslie  Wrandall,. 
instructing  him  to  break  the  news  to  his  father  and 
mother  and  to  come  to  her  apartment  after  he  had 
attended  to  the  removal  of  the  body  to  the  family 
home  near  Washington  Square.  She  made  it  quite 
plain  that  she  did  not  want  Challis  Wrandall's  body  to 
lie  under  the  roof  that  sheltered  her. 

His  family  had  resented  their  marriage.  Father, 
mother  and  sister  had  objected  to  her  from  the  be 
ginning,  not  because  she  was  unworthy,  but  because  her 
tradespeople  ancestry  was  not  so  remote  as  his.  She 
found  a  curious  sense  of  pleasure  in  returning  to  them 
the  thing  they  prized  so  highly  and  surrendered  to  her 
with  such  bitterness  of  heart.  She  had  not  been  good 
enough  for  him :  that  was  their  attitude.  Now  she  was 
returning  him  to  them,  as  one  would  return  an  article 
that  had  been  tested  and  found  to  be  worthless.  She 
would  have  no  more  of  him ! 

Leslie,  three  years  younger  than  Challis,  did  not  hold 
to  the  views  that  actuated  the  remaining  members  of 
the  family  in  opposing  her  as  an  addition  to  the  rather 
close  corporation  known  far  and  wide  as  "  the  Wran- 
dalls."  He  had  stood  out  for  her  in  a  rather  mild  but 
none-the-less  steadfast  manner,  blandly  informing  his 
mother  on  more  than  one  occasion  that  Sara  was  quite 
too  good  for  Challis,  any  way  you  looked  at  it :  an  at 
titude  which  provoked  sundry  caustic  references  to  his 
own  lamentable  shortcomings  in  the  matter  of  family 
pride  and  —  intelligence. 


52  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

He  and  Sara  had  been  good  friends  after  a  fash 
ion.  He  was  a  bit  of  a  snob  but  not  much  of  a  prig. 
She  had  the  feeling  about  him  that  if  he  could  be  weaned 
away  from  the  family  he  might  stand  for  something 
fine  in  the  way  of  character.  But  he  was  an  adept 
at  straddling  fences,  so  that  he  was  never  fully  on  one 
side  or  the  other,  no  matter  which  way  he  leaned. 

He  had  not  been  deeply  attached  to  his  brother. 
Their  ways  were  wide  apart.  All  his  life  he  had  known 
Challis  for  what  he  was ;  his  heart  if  not  his  hand  was 
against  him.  From  the  first,  he  had  regarded  Sara's 
marriage  as  a  bad  bargain  for  her,  and  toward  the 
last  bluntly  told  her  so.  Not  once  but  many  times  had 
lie  taken  it  upon  himself  to  inform  her  that  she  was  a 
fool  to  put  up  with  all  the  beastly  things  Challis  was 
doing.  He  characterised  as  infatuation  the  emotion 
she  was  prone  to  call  love  when  they  met  to  discuss 
the  escapades  of  the  careless  Challis,  for  she  always 
went  to  him  with  her  troubles.  In  direct  opposition 
to  his  counselling,  she  invariably  forgave  the  erring 
lover  who  was  her  husband.  Once  Leslie  had  said  to 
her,  in  considerable  heat :  "  You  act  as  if  you  were 
his  mistress,  instead  of  his  wife.  Mistresses  have  to 
forgive ;  wives  don't."  And  she  had  replied :  "  Yes, 
but  I'd  much  rather  have  him  a  lover  than  a  husband." 
A  remark  which  Leslie  never  quite  fathomed,  being 
somewhat  literal  himself. 

Carroll,  her  lawyer,  an  elderly  man  of  vast  expe 
rience,  was  not  surprised  to  find  her  quite  calm  and 
reasonable.  He  had  come  to  know  her  very  well  in 
the  past  few  years.  He  had  been  her  father's  lawyer 
up  to  the  time  of  that  excellent  tradesman's  demise, 
and  he  had  settled  the  estate  with  such  unusual  des 
patch  that  the  heirs, —  there  were  many  of  them, —  re- 


HETTY  CASTLETON  53 

garded  him  as  an  admirable  person  and  —  kept  him 
busy  ever  afterward  straightening  out  their  own  af 
fairs.  Which  goes  to  prove  that  policy  is  often  better 
than  honesty. 

"  I  quite  understand,  my  dear,  that  while  it  is  a 
dreadful  shock  to  you,  you  are  perfectly  reconciled 
to  the  —  er  —  to  the  —  well,  I  might  say  the  culmina 
tion  of  his  troubles,"  said  Mr.  Carroll  tactfully,  after 
she  had  related  for  his  benefit  the  story  of  the  night's 
adventure,  with  reservation  concerning  the  girl  who 
slumbered  in  the  room  beyond. 

"  Hardly  that,  Mr.  Carroll.  Resigned,  perhaps.  I 
can't  say  that  I  am  reconciled.  All  my  life  I  shall 
feel  that  I  have  been  cheated,"  she  said. 

He  looked  up  sharply.  Something  in  her  tone  puz 
zled  him.  "Cheated,  my  dear?  Oh,  I  see.  Cheated 
out  of  years  and  years  of  happiness.  I  see." 

She  bowed  her  head.  Neither  spoke  for  a  full  min 
ute. 

"  It's  a  horrible  thing  to  say,  Sara,  but  this  tragedy 
does  away  with  another  and  perhaps  more  unpleasant 
alternative :  the  divorce  I  have  been  urging  you  to  con 
sider  for  so  long." 

"  Yes,  we  are  spared  all  that,"  she  said.  Then  she 
met  his  gaze  with  a  sudden  flash  of  anger  in  her  eyes. 
"  But  I  would  not  have  divorced  him  —  never.  You 
understood  that,  didn't  you?  " 

"  You  couldn't  have  gone  on  for  ever,  my  dear  child, 
enduring  the  — " 

She  stopped  him  with  a  sharp  exclamation.  "  Why 
discuss  it  now?  Let  the  past  take  care  of  itself,  Mr. 
Carroll.  The  past  came  to  an  end  night  before  last, 
so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  I  want  advice  for  the  fu 
ture,  not  for  the  past." 


54  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

He  drew  back,  hurt  by  her  manner.  She  was  quick 
to  see  that  she  had  offended  him. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  best  of  friends,"  she  cried 
earnestly. 

He  smiled.  "  If  you  will  take  present  advice,  Sara, 
you  will  let  go  of  yourself  for  a  spell  and  see  if  tears 
won't  relieve  the  tension  under  — " 

"  Tears ! "  she  cried.  "  Why  should  I  give  way  to 
tears?  What  have  I  to  weep  for?  That  man  up  there 
in  the  country?  The  cold,  dead  thing  that  spent  its 
last  living  moments  without  a  thought  of  love  for  me? 
Ah,  no,  my  friend ;  I  shed  all  my  tears  while  he  was 
alive.  There  are  none  left  to  be  shed  for  him  now.  He 
exacted  his  full  share  of  them.  It  was  his  pleasure 
to  wring  them  from  me  because  he  knew  I  loved  him." 
She  leaned  forward  and  spoke  slowly,  distinctly,  so 
that  he  would  never  forget  the  words.  "  But  listen 
to  me,  Mr.  Carroll.  You  also  know  that  I  loved  him. 
Can  you  believe  me  when  I  say  to  you  that  I  hate  that 
dead  thing  up  there  in  Burton's  Inn  as  no  one  ever 
hated  before?  Can  you  understand  what  I  mean?  I 
hate  that  dead  body,  Mr.  Carroll.  I  loved  the  life  that 
was  in  it.  It  was  the  life  of  him  that  I  loved,  the  warm, 
appealing  life  of  him.  It  has  gone  out.  Some  one  less 
amiable  than  I  suffered  at  his  hands  and  —  well,  that 
is  enough.  I  hate  the  dead  body  she  left  behind  her, 
Mr.  Carroll." 

The  lawyer  wiped  the  cool  moisture  from  his  brow. 

"  I  think  I  understand,"  he  said,  but  he  was  filled 
with  wonder.  "  Extraordinary !  Ahem !  I  should 
say  —  Ahem !  Dear  me !  Yes,  yes  —  I've  never  really 
thought  of  it  in  that  light." 

"  I  dare  say  you  haven't,"  she  said,  lying  back  in 
the  chair  as  if  suddenly  exhausted. 


HETTY  CASTLETON  55 

"  By  the  way,  my  dear,  have  you  breakfasted?  " 

"  No.  I  hadn't  given  it  a  thought.  Perhaps  it 
would  be  better  if  I  had  some  coffee  — " 

"  I  will  ring  for  a  waiter,"  he  said,  springing  to  his 
feet. 

"  Not  now,  please.  I  have  a  young  friend  in  the 
other  room  —  a  guest  who  arrived  last  night.  She 
will  attend  to  it  when  she  awakes.  Poor  thing,  it  has 
been  dreadfully  trying  for  her." 

"  Good  heaven,  I  should  think  so,"  said  he,  with  a 
glance  at  the  closed  door.  "Is  she  asleep?  " 

"  Yes.     I  shall  not  call  her  until  you  have  gone." 

"  May  I  enquire  — " 

"  A  girl  I  met  recently  —  an  English  girl,"  said  she 
succinctly,  and  forthwith  changed  the  subject.  "  There 
are  a  few  necessary  details  that  must  be  attended  to, 
Mr.  Carroll.  That  is  why  I  sent  for  you  at  this  early 
hour.  Mr.  Leslie  Wrandall  will  take  charge  —  Ah !  " 
she  straightened  up  suddenly.  "  What  a  farce  it  is 
going  to  be !  " 

Half  an  hour  later  he  departed,  to  rejoin  her  at 
eleven  o'clock,  when  the  reporters  were  to  be  expected. 
He  was  to  do  the  talking  for  her.  While  he  was  there, 
Leslie  Wrandall  called  her  up  on  the  telephone.  Hear 
ing  but  one  side  of  the  rather  prolonged  conversation, 
he  was  filled  with  wonder  at  the  tactful  way  in  which 
she  met  and  parried  the  inevitable  questions  and  sug 
gestions  coming  from  her  horror-struck  brother-in- 
law.  Without  the  slightest  trace  of  offensiveness  in 
her  manner,  she  gave  Leslie  to  understand  that  the 
final  obsequies  must  be  conducted  in  the  home  of  his 
parents,  to  whom  once  more  her  husband  belonged,  and 
that  she  would  abide  by  all  arrangements  his  family 
elected  to  make.  Mr.  Carroll  surmised  from  the  trend 


56  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

of  conversation  that  young  Wrandall  was  about  to  leave 
for  the  scene  of  the  tragedy,  and  that  the  house  was  in 
a  state  of  unspeakable  distress.  The  lawyer  smiled 
rather  grimly  to  himself  as  he  turned  to  look  out  of 
the  window.  He  did  not  have  to  be  told  that  Challis 
was  the  idol  of  the  family,  and  that,  so  far  as  they  were 
concerned,  he  could  do  no  wrong! 

After  his  departure,  Mrs.  Wrandall  gently  opened 
the  bedroom  door  and  was  surprised  to  find  the  girl 
wide-awake,  resting  on  one  elbow,  her  staring  eyes  fas 
tened  on  the  newspaper  that  topped  the  pile  on  the 
chair. 

Catching  sight  of  Mrs.  Wrandall  she  pointed  to  the 
paper  with  a  trembling  hand  and  cried  out,  in  a  voice 
full  of  horror: 

"Did  you  place  them  there  for  me  to  read?  Who 
was  with  you  in  the  other  room  just  now?  Was  it  some 
one  about  the  —  some  one  looking  for  me  ?  Speak ! 
Please  tell  me.  I  heard  a  man's  voice  — " 

The  other  crossed  quickly  to  her  side. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed.  It  was  my  lawyer.  There  is 
nothing  to  fear  —  at  present.  Yes,  I  left  the  papers 
there  for  you  to  see.  You  can  see  what  a  sensation 
it  has  caused.  Challis  Wrandall  was  one  of  the  most 
widely  known  men  in  New  York.  But  I  suppose  you 
know  that  without  my  telling  you." 

The  girl  sank  back  with  a  groan.  "  My  God,  what 
have  I  done?  What  will  come  of  it  all?  " 

"  I  wish  I  could  answer  that  question,"  said  the  other, 
taking  the  girl's  hand  in  hers.  Both  were  trembling. 
After  an  instant's  hesitation,  she  laid  her  other  hand  on 
the  dark,  dishevelled  hair  of  the  wild-eyed  creature,  who 
still  continued  to  stare  at  the  headlines.  "  I  am  quite 
sure  they  will  not  look  for  you  here,  or  in  my  home." 


HETTY  CASTLETON  57 

"  In  your  home?  " 

"  You  are  to  go  with  me.  I  have  thought  it  all 
over.  It  is  the  only  way.  Come,  I  must  ask  you  to 
pull  yourself  together.  Get  up  at  once,  and  dress. 
Here  are  the  things  you  are  to  wear."  She  indicated 
the  orderly  pile  of  garments  with  a  wave  of  her  hand. 

Slowly  the  girl  crept  out  of  bed,  confused,  bewildered, 
stunned. 

"  Where  are  my  own  things  ?  I  —  I  cannot  accept 
these.  Pray  give  me  my  own — " 

Mrs.  Wrandall  checked  her. 

"You  must  obey  me,  if  you  expect  me  to  help  you. 
Don't  you  understand  that  I  have  had  a  —  a  bereave 
ment?  I  cannot  wear  these  things  now.  They  are 
useless  to  me.  But  we  will  speak  of  all  that  later  on. 
Come,  be  quick;  I  will  help  you  to  dress.  First,  go 
to  the  telephone  and  ask  them  to  send  a  waiter  to  — 
these  rooms.  We  must  have  something  to  eat.  Please 
do  as  I  tell  you." 

Standing  before  her  benefactress,  her  fingers  fum 
bling  impotently  at  the  neck  of  the  night-dress,  the  girl 
still  continued  to  stare  dumbly  into  the  calm,  dark  eyes 
before  her. 

"  You  are  so  good.     I  —  I  — " 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  interrupted  the  other,  deliber 
ately  setting  about  to  remove  the  night-dress.  The 
girl  caught  it  up  as  it  slipped  from  her  shoulders,  a 
warm  flush  suffusing  her  face,  a  shamed  look  springing 
into  her  eyes. 

"  Thank  you,  I  can  —  get  on  very  well.  I  only 
wanted  to  ask  you  a  question.  It  has  been  on  my  mind, 
waking  and  sleeping.  Can  you  tell  me  anything  about 
—  do  you  know  his  wife?" 

The  question  was  so  abrupt,  so  startling  that  Mrs. 


58  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

Wrandall  uttered  a  sharp  little  cry.  For  a  moment 
she  could  not  reply.  * 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  so  desperately  sorry  for  her,"  added 
the  girl  plaintively. 

"  I  know  her,"  the  other  managed  to  say  with  an 
effort. 

"  If  I  had  only  known  that  he  had  a  wife  — "  began 
the  girl  bitterly,  almost  angrily. 

Mrs.  Wrandall  grasped  her  by  the  arm.  "  You  did 
not  know  that  he  had  a  wife?"  she  cried. 

The  girl's  eyes  flashed  with  a  sudden,  fierce  fire  in 
their  depths. 

"  God  in  heaven,  no !  I  did  not  know  it  until  • — 
Oh,  I  can't  speak  of  it !  Why  should  I  tell  you  about 
it?  Why  should  you  be  interested  in  hearing  it?  " 

Mrs.  Wrandall  drew  back  and  regarded  the  girl's 
set,  unhappy  face.  There  was  a  curious  light  in  her 
eyes  that  escaped  the  other's  notice, —  a  light  that 
would  have  puzzled  her  not  a  little. 

"  But  you  will  tell  me  —  everything  —  a  little  later," 
she  said,  strangely  calm.  "  Not  now,  but  —  before 
many  hours  have  passed.  First  of  all,  you  must  tell 
me  who  you  are,  where  you  live, —  everything  except 
what  happened  in  Burton's  Inn.  I  don't  want  to  hear 
that  at  present  —  perhaps  never.  Yes,  on  second 
thoughts,  I  will  say  never!  You  are  never  to  tell  me 
just  what  happened  up  there,  or  just  what  led  up  to 
it.  Do  you  understand?  Never!" 

The  girl  stared  at  her  in  amazement.  "  But  I  — 
I  must  tell  some  one,"  she  cried  vehemently.  "  I  have 
a  right  to  defend  myself  — " 

"  I  am  not  asking  you  to  defend  yourself,"  said  Mrs. 
Wrandall  shortly.  Then,  as  if  afraid  to  remain  longer, 
she  rushed  from  the  room.  In  the  doorway,  she  turned 


HETTY  CASTLETON  59 

for  an  instant  to  say :  "  Do  as  I  told  you.  Telephone. 
Dress  as  quickly  as  you  can."  She  closed  the  door 
swiftly. 

Standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  her  hands 
clenched  until  the  nails  cut  the  flesh,  she  said  over  and 
over  again  to  herself :  "  I  don't  want  to  know !  I  don't 
want  to  know!  " 

A  few  minutes  later  she  was  critically  inspecting 
the  young  woman  who  came  from  the  bedroom  attired 
in  a  street  dress  that  neither  of  them  had  ever  donned 
before.  The  girl,  looking  fresher,  prettier  and  even 
younger  than  when  she  had  seen  her  last,  was  in  no  way 
abashed.  She  seemed  to  have  accepted  the  garments 
and  the  situation  in  the  same  spirit  of  resignation  and 
hope:  as  if  she  had  decided  to  make  the  most  of  her 
slim  chance  to  profit  by  these  amazing  circumstances. 

They  sat  opposite  each  other  at  the  little  breakfast 
table. 

"  Please  pour  the  coffee,"  said  Mrs.  Wrandall.  The 
waiter  had  left  the  room  at  her  command.  The  girl's 
hand  shook,  but  she  complied  without  a  word. 

"  Now  you  may  tell  me  who  you  are  and  —  but 
wait !  You  are  not  to  say  anything  about  what  hap 
pened  at  the  inn.  Guard  your  words  carefully.  I 
am  not  asking  for  a  confession.  I  do  not  care  to  know 
what  happened  there.  It  will  make  it  easier  for  me  to 
protect  you.  You  may  call  it  conscience.  Keep  your 
big  secret  to  yourself.  Not  one  word  to  me.  Do  you 
understand?  " 

"  You  mean  that  I  am  not  to  reveal,  even  to  you,  the 
causes  which  led  up  to  — " 

"  Nothing  —  absolutely  nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Wran 
dall  firmly. 

"But  I  cannot  permit  you  to  judge  me,  to — well, 


60  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

you  might  say  to  acquit  me, —  without  hearing  the 
story.  It  is  so  vital  to  me." 

"I  can  judge  you  without  hearing  all  of  the  —  the 
evidence,  if  that's  what  you  mean.  Simply  answer  the 
questions  I  shall  ask,  and  nothing  more.  There  are 
certain  facts  I  must  have  from  you  if  I  am  to  shield 
you.  You  must  tell  me  the  truth.  I  take  it  you  are 
an  English  girl.  Where  do  you  live?  Who  are  your 
friends  ?  Where  is  your  family  ?  " 

The  girl's  face  flushed  for  an  instant  and  then  grew 
pale  again. 

"  I  will  tell  you  the  truth,"  she  said.  "  My  name  is 
Hetty  Castleton.  My  father  is  Col.  Braid  Castleton, 
of  —  of  the  British  army.  My  mother  is  dead. 
She  was  Kitty  Glynn,  at  one  time  a  popular  music-hall 
performer  in  London.  She  was  Irish.  She  died  two 
years  ago.  My  father  was  a  gentleman.  I  do  not  say 
he  is  a  gentleman,  for  his  treatment  of  my  mother  re 
lieves  him  from  that  distinction.  He  is  in  the  Far  East, 
China,  I  think.  I  have  not  seen  him  in  more  than  five 
years.  He  deserted  my  mother.  That's  all  there  is 
to  that  side  of  my  story.  I  appeared  in  two  or  three 
of  the  musical  pieces  produced  in  London  two  seasons 
ago,  in  the  chorus.  I  never  got  beyond  that,  for  very 
good  reasons.  I  was  known  as  Hetty  Glynn.  Three 
weeks  ago  I  started  for  New  York,  sailing  from  Liver 
pool.  Previously  I  had  served  in  the  capacity  of  gov 
erness  in  the  family  of  John  Budlong,  a  brewer.  They 
had  a  son,  a  young  man  of  twenty.  Two  months  ago 
I  was  dismissed.  A  California  lady,  Mrs.  Holcombe, 
offered  me  a  situation  as  governess  to  her  two  little  girls 
soon  afterward.  I  was  to  go  to  her  home  in  San  Fran 
cisco.  She  provided  the  money  necessary  for  the  voy 
age  and  for  other  expenses.  She  is  still  in  Europe. 


HETTY  CASTLETON  61 

I  landed  in  New  York  a  fortnight  ago  and,  following 
her  directions,  presented  myself  at  a  certain  bank, —  I 
have  the  name  somewhere  —  where  my  railroad  tickets 
were  to  be  in  readiness  for  me,  with  further  instruc 
tions.  They  were  to  give  me  twenty-five  pounds  on 
the  presentation  of  my  letter  from  Mrs.  Holcombe. 
They  gave  me  the  money  and  then  handed  me  a  cable 
gram  from  Mrs.  Holcombe,  notifying  me  that  my  serv 
ices  would  not  be  required.  There  was  no  explanation. 
Just  that. 

"  On  the  steamer  I  met  —  lum.  His  deck  chair  was 
next  to  mine.  I  noticed  that  his  name  was  Wrandall  — 
*  C.  Wrandall '  the  card  on  the  chair  informed  me. 
I—" 

"  You  crossed  on  the  steamer  with  him?  "  interrupted 
Mrs.  Wrandall  quickly. 

"  Yes." 

"Had  —  had  you  seen  him  before?     In  London?" 

"  Never.  Well,  we  became  acquainted,  as  people  do. 
He  —  he  was  very  handsome  and  agreeable."  She 
paused  for  a  moment  to  collect  herself. 

"  Very  handsome  and  agreeable,"  said  the  other 
slowly. 

"  We  got  to  be  very  good  friends.  There  were  not 
many  people  on  board,  and  apparently  he  knew  none  of 
them.  It  was  too  cold  to  stay  on  deck  much  of  the 
time,  and  it  was  very  rough.  He  had  one  of  the  splen 
did  suites  on  the  — " 

"  Pray  omit  unnecessary  details.  You  landed  and 
went  —  where?  " 

"  He  advised  me  to  go  to  an  hotel  —  I  can't  recall  the 
name.  It  was  rather  an  unpleasant  place.  Then  I 
went  to  the  bank,  as  I  have  stated.  After  that  I  did 
not  know  what  to  do.  I  was  stunned,  bewildered.  I 


62  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

called  him  up  on  the  telephone  and  —  he  asked  me  to 
meet  him  for  dinner  at  a  queer  little  cafe,  far  down 
town.  We  — " 

"  And  you  had  no  friends,  no  acquaintances  here?  " 

"  No.  He  suggested  that  I  go  into  one  of  the  musi 
cal  shows,  saying  he  thought  he  could  arrange  it  with 
a  manager  who  was  a  friend.  Anything  to  tide  me 
over,  he  said.  But  I  would  not  consider  it,  not  for 
an  instant.  I  had  had  enough  of  the  stage.  I  —  I 
am  really  not  fitted  for  it.  Besides,  I  am  qualified  — 
well  qualified  —  to  be  governess  —  but  that  is  neither 
here  nor  there.  I  had  some  money  —  perhaps  forty 
pounds.  I  found  lodgings  with  some  people  in  Nine 
teenth  street.  He  never  came  there  to  see  me.  I  can 
see  plainly  now  why  he  argued  it  would  not  be  —  well, 
he  used  the  word  *  wise.'  But  we  went  occasionally  to 
dine  together.  We  went  about  in  a  motor  —  a  little 
red  one.  He  —  he  told  me  he  loved  me.  That  was 
one  night  about  a  week  ago.  I — " 

"  I  don't  care  to  hear  about  it,"  cried  the  other. 
"  No  need  of  that.  Spare  me  the  silly  side  of  the 
story." 

"Silly,  madam?  In  God's  name,  do  you  think  it 
was  silly  to  me  ?  Why  —  why,  I  believed  him !  And, 
what  is  more,  I  believe  that  he  did  love  me  —  even  now 
I  believe  it." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Wrandall  calmly. 
"  You  are  very  pretty  —  and  charming." 

"  I  —  I  did  not  know  that  he  had  a  wife  until  —  well, 
until — "  She  could  not  go  on. 

"Night  before  last?" 

The  girl  shuddered.  Mrs.  Wrandall  turned  her  face 
away  and  waited. 

"  There  is  nothing  more  I  can  tell  you,  unless  you 


HETTY  CASTLETON  63 

permit  me  to  tell  all,"  the  girl  resumed  after  a  mo 
ment  of  hesitation. 

Mrs.  Wrandall  arose. 

"  I  have  heard  enough.  This  afternoon  I  will  send 
my  butler  with  you  to  the  lodging  house  in  Nineteenth 
street.  He  will  attend  to  the  removal  of  your  personal 
effects  to  my  home,  and  you  will  return  with  him.  It 
will  be  testing  fate,  Miss  Castleton,  this  visit  to  your 
former  abiding  place,  but  I  have  decided  to  give  the 
law  its  chance.  If  you  are  suspected,  a  watch  will  be 
set  over  the  house  in  which  you  lived.  If  you  are  not 
suspected,  if  your  association  with  —  with  Wrandall  is 
quite  unknown,  you  will  run  no  risk  in  going  there 
openly,  nor  will  I  be  taking  so  great  a  chance  as  may 
appear  in  offering  you  a  home,  for  the  time  being  at 
least,  as  companion  —  or  secretary  or  whatever  we  may 
elect  to  call  it  for  the  benefit  of  all  enquirers.  Are  you 
willing  to  run  the  risk  —  this  single  risk?  " 

"  Perfectly  willing,"  announced  the  other  without 
hesitation.  Indeed,  her  face  brightened.  "  If  they  are 
waiting  there  for  me,  I  shall  go  with  them  without  a 
word.  I  have  no  means  of  expressing  my  gratitude  to 
you  for  — " 

"  There  is  time  enough  for  that,"  said  Mrs.  Wran 
dall  quickly.  "  And  if  they  are  not  there,  you  will  re 
turn  to  me?  You  will  not  desert  me  now?  " 

The  girl's  eyes  grew  wide  with  wonder.  "  Desert 
you?  Why  do  you  put  it  in  that  way?  I  don't  un 
derstand." 

"  You  will  come  back  to  me?  "  insisted  the  other. 

"  Yes.  Why, —  why,  it  means  everything  to  me. 
It  means  life, —  more  than  that,  most  wonderful  friend. 
Life  isn't  very  sweet  to  me.  But  the  joy  of  giving  it 
to  you  for  ever  is  the  dearest  boon  I  crave.  I  do  give 


64  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

it  to  you.  It  belongs  to  you.  I  —  I  could  die  for 
you." 

She  dropped  to  her  knees  and  pressed  her  lips  to 
Sara  Wrandall's  hand;  hot  tears  fell  upon  it. 

Mrs.  Wrandall  laid  her  free  hand  on  the  dark,  glossy 
hair  and  smiled ;  smiled  warmly  for  the  first  time  in  — 
well,  in  years  she  might  have  said  to  herself  if  she  had 
stopped  to  consider. 

"  Get  up,  my  dear,"  she  said  gently.  "  I  shall  not 
ask  you  to  die  for  me  —  if  you  do  come  back.  I  may  be 
sending  you  to  your  death,  as  it  is,  but  it  is  the  chance 
we  must  take.  A  few  hours  will  tell  the  tale.  Now 
listen  to  what  I  am  about  to  say, —  to  propose.  I  off er 
you  a  home,  I  offer  you  friendship  and  I  trust  security 
from  the  peril  that  confronts  you.  I  ask  nothing  in 
return,  not  even  a  word  of  gratitude.  You  may  tell 
the  people  at  your  lodgings  that  I  have  engaged  you 
as  companion  and  that  we  are  to  sail  for  Europe  in  a 
week's  time  if  possible.  Now  we  must  prepare  to  go 
to  my  own  home.  You  will  see  to  packing  my  —  that 
is,  our  trunks  — " 

"  Oh,  it  —  it  must  be  a  dream !  "  cried  Hetty  Castle- 
ton,  her  eyes  swimming.  "  I  can't  believe  — "  Sud 
denly  she  caught  herself  up,  and  tried  to  smile.  "  I 
don't  see  why  you  do  this  for  me.  I  do  not  deserve  — " 

"  You  have  done  me  a  service,"  said  Mrs.  Wrandall, 
her  manner  so  peculiar  that  the  girl  again  assumed  the 
stare  of  perplexity  and  wonder  that  had  been  para 
mount  since  their  meeting:  as  if  she  were  on  the  verge 
of  grasping  a  great  truth. 

"  What  can  you  mean?  " 

Sara  laid  her  hands  on  the  girl's  shoulders  and  looked 
steadily  into  the  puzzled  eyes  for  a  moment  before 
speaking. 


HETTY  CASTLETON  65 

"  My  girl,"  she  said,  ever  so  gently,  "  I  shall  not  ask 
what  your  life  has  been ;  I  do  not  care.  I  shall  not  ask 
for  references.  You  are  alone  in  the  world  and  you 
need  a  friend.  I  too  am  alone.  If  you  will  come  to  me 
I  will  do  everything  in  my  power  to  make  you  comfort 
able  and  —  contented.  Perhaps  it  will  be  impossible 
to  make  you  happy.  I  promise  faithfully  to  help  you, 
to  shield  you,  to  repay  you  for  the  thing  you  have 
done  for  me.  You  could  not  have  fallen  into  gentler 
hands  than  mine  will  prove  to  be.  That  much  I  swear 
to  you  on  my  soul,  which  is  sacred.  I  bear  you  no 
ill-will.  I  have  nothing  to  avenge." 

Hetty  drew  back,  completely  mystified. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  she  murmured,  still  staring. 

"  I  am  Challis  WrandalPs  wife." 


CHAPTER   IV 

WHILE    THE    MOB    WAITED 

THE  next  day  but  one,  in  the  huge  old-fashioned  man 
sion  of  the  Wrandalls  in  lower  Fifth  Avenue,  in  the 
drawing-room  directly  beneath  the  chamber  in  which 
Challis  was  born,  the  impressive  but  grimly  conventional 
funeral  services  were  held. 

Contrasting  sharply  with  the  sombre,  absolutely  cor 
rect  atmosphere  of  the  gloomy  interior  was  the  exte 
rior  display  of  joyous  curiosity  that  must  have  jarred 
severely  on  the  high-bred  sensibilities  of  the  chief 
mourners,  not  to  speak  of  the  invited  guests  who  had 
been  obliged  to  pass  between  rows  of  gaping  bystand 
ers  in  order  to  reach  the  portals  of  the  house  of  grief, 
and  who  must  have  reckoned  with  extreme  distaste  the 
cost  of  subsequent  departure.  A  dozen  raucous-voiced 
policemen  were  employed  to  keep  back  the  hundreds 
that  thronged  the  sidewalk  and  blocked  the  street. 
Curiosity  was  rampant.  Ever  since  the  moment  that 
the  body  of  Challis  Wrandall  was  carried  into  the  house 
of  his  father,  a  motley,  varying  crowd  of  people  shifted 
restlessly  in  front  of  the  mansion,  filled  with  gruesome 
interest  in  the  absolutely  unseen,  animated  by  the  sly 
hope  that  something  sensational  might  happen  if  they 
waited  long  enough. 

Men,  women,  children  struggled  for  places  nearest 
the  tall  iron  fence  surrounding  the  spare  yard,  and 
gazed  with  awed  but  wistful  eyes  at  the  curtained  win 
dows  and  at  the  huge  bow  of  crepe  on  the  massive  por 
tals.  In  hushed  voices  they  spoke  of  the  murder  and  ex 
pressed  a  single  opinion  among  them  all :  the  law  ought 

66 


WHILE  THE  MOB  WAITED  67 

to  make  short  work  of  her !  If  this  thing  had  happened 
in  England,  said  they  who  scoff  at  our  own  laws,  there 
wouldn't  be  any  foolishness  about  the  business:  the 
woman  would  be  buried  in  quick-lime  before  you  could 
know  what  you  were  talking  about.  The  law  in  this 
country  is  a  joke,  said  they,  with  great  irritability. 
Why  can't  we  do  the  business  up,  sharp  and  quick,  as 
they  do  in  England?  Get  it  over  with,  that's  the  ticket. 
What's  the  sense  of  dragging  it  out  for  a  year?  Send 
'em  to  the  chair  or  hang  'em  while  everybody's  inter 
ested,  not  when  the  thing's  half  forgotten.  Who  wants, 
to  see  a  person  hanged  after  the  crime's  been  forgotten? 
And  then,  think  of  the  saving  to  the  State?  Hang  'em, 
men  or  women,  and  in  a  couple  of  years'  time  there 
wouldn't  be  a  tenth  part  of  the  murders  we  have  now. 
Statistics  prove,  went  on  the  wise  ones,  that  only  one  out 
of  every  hundred  is  hanged.  What's  that?  The  jury 
system  is  rotten!  No  sirree,  we  are  'way  behind  Eng 
land  in  that  respect.  Just  look  at  that  big  murder  case 
in  London  last  month!  Remember  it?  Murderer  was 
hanged  inside  of  three  weeks  after  he  was  caught. 
That's  the  way  to  do  it !  And  the  London  police  catch 
'em  too.  Our  police  stand  around  doing  nothing  until 
the  criminal  has  got  a  week's  start,  and  then  —  oh, 
well,  what  can  you  expect?  "  Now  if  I  was  at  the  head 
of  the  New  York  department  I'd  have  that  woman  be 
hind  the  bars  before  night,  that's  what  I'd  do.  You 
bet  your  life,  I  would,"  said  more  than  one.  And  no 
one  questioned  his  ability  to  do  so. 

And  then  all  of  them  would  growl  at  the  police 
men  who  pushed  them  back  from  the  gates,  and  call 
them  "  scabs  "  and  "  mutts  "  in  repressed  tones,  and 
snarl  under  their  breath  that  they  wouldn't  be  pushing 
people  around  like  that  if  they  didn't  have  stars  and 


68  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

clubs  and  a  great  idea  of  their  own  importance.  "  If  it 
wasn't  for  the  family  at  home  dependin'  on  me  for  sup 
port,  I'd  take  a  punch  at  that  stiff,  so  help  me  God, 
even  if  I  went  to*  the  Island  for  it  1  " 

And  so  it  was  and  ever  shall  be,  world  without  end. 

Newsboys,  hoarse-voiced  and  pipe-voiced,  mingled 
with  the  crowd,  and  shrieked  their  extras  under  the 
very  noses  of  the  always-aloof  Wrandalls,  who  up  to 
this  day  had  turned  them  up  at  the  sight  of  a  vulgar 
extra,  but  who  now  looked  down  them  with  a  trembling 
of  the  nostrils  that  left  no  room  for  doubt  as  to  their 
present  state  of  mind. 

Up  to  the  very  portals  these  assiduous  peddlers 
yelped  for  pennies  and  gave  in  exchange  the  latest  head 
lines.  "All  about  Mr.  Challis  Wran'all's  fun'ral!" 
*'  Horrible  extry ! "  Ding-donging  the  thing  in  the 
very  ears  of  the  dead  man  himself ! 

Motor  after  motor,  carriage  after  carriage,  rolled 
up  to  the  curb  and  emptied  its  sober-faced,  self-con 
scious  occupants  in  front  of  the  door  with  the  great 
black  bow;  with  each  arrival  the  crowd  surged  for 
ward,  and  names  were  muttered  in  undertones,  passing 
from  lip  to  lip  until  every  one  in  the  street  knew  that 
Mr.  So-and-So,  Mrs.  This-or-That,  the  What-do-you- 
call-ems  and  others  of  the  city's  most  exclusive  but  most 
garishly  advertised  society  leaders  had  entered  the 
house  of  mourning.  It  was  a  great  show  for  the  ple 
beian  spectators.  Much  better  than  Miss  So-and-So's 
wedding,  said  one  woman  who  had  attended  the  afore 
said  ceremony  as  a  unit  in  the  well-dressed  mob  that 
almost  wrecked  the  carriages  in  the  desire  to  see  the 
terrified  bride.  Better  than  a  circus,  said  a  man  who 
held  his  little  daughter  above  the  heads  of  the  crowd 
so  that  she  might  see  the  fine  lady  in  a  wild-beast  fur. 


WHILE  THE  MOB  WAITED  69 

Swellest  funeral  New  York  ever  had,  remarked  another, 
excepting  one  'way  back  when  he  was  a  kid. 

At  the  corner  below  stood  two  patrol  wagons,  also 
waiting. 

Inside  the  house  sat  the  carefully  selected  guests, 
hushed  and  stiff  and  gratified.  (Not  because  they 
were  attending  a  funeral,  but  because  the  occasion 
served  to  separate  them  from  the  chaff:  they  were  the 
elect.)  It  would  be  going  too  far  to  intimate  that  they 
were  proud  of  themselves,  but  it  is  not  stretching  it 
very  much  to  say  that  they  counted  noses  with  con 
siderable  satisfaction  and  were  glad  that  they  had  not 
been  left  out.  The  real,  high-water  mark  in  New  York 
society  was  established  at  this  memorable  function.  It 
was  quite  plain  to  every  one  that  Mrs.  Wrandall, — the 
Mrs.  Wrandall, —  had  made  out  the  list  of  guests  to 
be  invited  to  the  funeral  of  her  son.  It  was  a  blue 
stocking  affair.  You  couldn't  imagine  anything  more 
so.  Afterwards,  the  two  hundred  who  were  there 
looked  with  utmost  pity  and  not  a  little  scorn  on  the 
other  two  hundred  who  failed  to  get  in,  notwithstanding 
there  was  ample  room  in  the  spacious  house  for  all  of 
them.  There  wasn't  a  questionable  guest  in  the  house, 
unless  one  were  to  question  the  right  of  the  dead  man's 
widow  to  be  there  —  and,  after  all,  she  was  upstairs 
with  the  family.  Even  so,  she  was  a  Wrandall  —  re 
motely,  of  course,  but  recognisable. 

Yes,  they  counted  noses,  so  to  say.  As  one  after  the 
other  arrived  and  was  ushered  into  the  huge  drawing- 
room,  he  or  she  was  accorded  a  congratulatory  look 
from  those  already  assembled,  a  tribute  returned  with 
equal  amiability.  Each  one  noted  who  else  was  there, 
and  each  one  said  to  himself  that  at  last  they  really 
had  something  all  to  themselves.  It  was  truly  a  pleas- 


70  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

lire,  a  relief,  to  be  able  to  do  something  without  being" 
pushed  about  by  people  who  didn't  belong  but  thought 
they  did.  They  sat  back, —  stiffly,  of  course, —  and 
in  utter  stillness  confessed  that  there  could  be  such  a 
thing  as  the  survival  of  the  fittest.  Yes,  there  wasn't 
a  nose  there  that  couldn't  be  counted  with  perfect 
serenity.  It  was  a  notable  occasion. 

Mrs.  Wrandall,  the  elder,  had  made  out  the  list. 
She  did  not  consult  her  daughter-in-law  in  the  matter. 
It  is  true  that  Sara  forestalled  her  in  a  way  by  send 
ing  word,  through  Leslie,  that  she  would  be  pleased 
if  Mrs.  Wrandall  would  issue  invitations  to  as  many  of 
Challis's  friends  as  she  deemed  advisable.  As  for  her 
self,  she  had  no  wish  in  the  matter ;  she  would  be  satis 
fied  with  whatever  arrangements  the  family  cared  to 
make. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  from  the  foregoing,  that 
Mrs.  Wrandall,  the  elder,  was  not  stricken  to  the  heart 
by  the  lamentable  death  of  her  idol.  He  was  her  idol. 
He  was  her  first-born,  he  was  her  love-born.  He  came 
to  her  in  the  days  when  she  loved  her  husband  without 
much  thought  of  respecting  him.  She  was  beginning 
to  regard  him  as  something  more  than  a  lover  when 
Leslie  came,  so  it  was  different.  When  their  daughter 
Vivian  was  born,  she  was  plainly  annoyed  but  wholly 
respectful.  Mr.  Wrandall  was  no  longer  the  lover ; 
he  was  her  lord  and  master.  The  head  of  the  house 
of  Wrandall  was  a  person  to  be  looked  up  to,  to  be 
respected  and  admired  by  her,  for  he  was  a  very  great 
man,  but  he  was  dear  to  her  only  because  he  was  the 
father  of  Challis,  the  first-born. 

In  the  order  of  her  nature,  Challis  therefore  was  her 
most  dearly  beloved,  Vivian  the  least  desired  and  last 
in  her  affections  as  well  as  in  sequence. 


WHILE  THE  MOB  WAITED  71 

Strangely  enough,  the  three  of  them  perfected  a  cu 
riously  significant  record  of  conjugal  endowments. 
Challis  had  always  been  the  wild,  wayward,  unre 
strained  one,  and  by  far  the  most  lovable;  Leslie,  al 
most  as  good  looking  but  with  scarcely  a  noticeable 
trace  of  the  charm  that  made  his  brother  attractive; 
Vivian,  handsome,  selfish  and  as  cheerless  as  the  wind 
that  blows  across  the  icebergs  in  the  north.  Challis 
had  been  born  with  a  widely  enveloping  heart  and  an 
elastic  conscience ;  Leslie  with  a  brain  and  a  soul  and 
not  much  of  a  heart,  as  things  go ;  Vivian  with  a  soul 
alone,  which  belonged  to  God,  after  all,  and  not  to  her. 
Of  course  she  had  a  heart,  but  it  was  only  for  the  pur 
pose  of  pumping  blood  to  remote  extremities,  and  had 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  anything  so  unutterably 
extraneous  as  love,  charity  or  self-sacrifice. 

As  for  Mr.  Redmond  Wrandall  he  was  a  very  proper 
and  dignified  gentleman,  and  old  for  his  years. 

Secretly,  Vivian  was  his  favourite.  Moreover,  pos 
sessing  the  usual  contrariness  of  man,  and  having  been 
at  one  time  or  other,  a  hot-blooded  lover,  he  professed 
—  also  in  secret  —  a  certain  admiration  for  the  beauti 
ful,  warm-hearted  wife  of  his  eldest  son.  He  looked 
upon  her  from  a  man's  point  of  view.  He  couldn't 
help  that.  Not  once,  but  many  times,  had  he  said  to 
himself  that  perhaps  Challis  was  lucky  to  have  got 
her  instead  of  one  of  the  girls  his  mother  had  chosen 
for  him  out  of  the  minute  elect. 

It  may  be  seen,  or  rather  surmised,  that  if  the  house 
of  Wrandall  had  not  been  so  admirably  centred  under 
its  own  vine  and  fig  tree,  it  might  have  become  divided 
against  itself  without  much  of  an  effort. 

Mrs.  Redmond  Wrandall  was  the  vine  and  fig  tree. 

And  now  they  had  brought  her  dearly  beloved  son 


72 

home  to  her,  murdered  and  —  disgraced.  If  it  had 
been  either  of  the  others,  she  could  have  said :  "  God's 
will  be  done."  Instead,  she  cried  out  that  God  had 
turned  against  her. 

Leslie  had'  had  the  bad  taste  —  or  perhaps  it  was 
misfortune  —  to  blurt  out  an  agonised  "  I  told  you 
so  "  at  a  time  when  the  family  was  sitting  numb  and 
hushed  under  the  blight  of  the  first  horrid  blow.  He 
did  not  mean  to  be  unfeeling.  It  was  the  truth  burst 
ing  from  his  unhappy  lips. 

"  I  knew  Chal  would  come  to  this  —  I  knew  it,"  he 
had  said.  His  arm  was  about  the  quivering  shoulders 
of  his  mother  as  he  said  it. 

She  looked  up,  a  sob  breaking  in  her  throat.  For  a 
long  time  she  looked  into  the  face  of  her  second  son. 

"  How  can  you  —  how  dare  you  say  such  a  thing 
as  that?  "  she  cried,  aghast. 

He  coloured,  and  drew  her  closer  to  him. 

"I  —  I  didn't  mean  it,"  he  faltered. 

"  You  have  always  taken  sides  against  him,"  began 
his  mother. 

"  Please,  mother,"  he  cried  miserably. 

"  You  say  this  to  me  now"  she  went  on.  "  You 
who  are  left  to  take  his  place  in  my  affection. —  Why, 
Leslie,  I  —  I  — " 

Vivian  interposed.  "  Les  is  upset,  mamma  darling. 
You  know  he  loved  Challis  as  deeply  as  any  of  us 
loved  him." 

Afterwards  the  girl  said  to  Leslie  when  they  were 
quite  alone :  "  She  will  never  forgive  you  for  that, 
Les.  It  was  a  beastly  thing  to  say." 

He  bit  his  lip,  which  trembled.  "  She's  never  cared 
for  me  as  she  cared  for  Chal.  I'm  sorry  if  I've  made  it 
worse." 


WHILE  THE  MOB  WAITED  73 

"  See  here,  Leslie,  was  Chal  so  —  so  — " 

"  Yes.  I  meant  what  I  said  a  while  ago.  It  was 
sure  to  happen  to  him  one  time  or  another.  Sara's 
had  a  lot  to  put  up  with." 

"  Sara !  If  she  had  been  the  right  sort  of  a  wife, 
this  never  would  have  happened." 

"  After  all  is  said  and  done,  Vivie,  Sara's  in  a  posi 
tion  to  rub  it  in  on  us  if  she's  of  a  mind  to  do  so.  She 
won't  do  it,  of  course,  but  —  I  wonder  if  she  isn't 
gloating,  just  the  same." 

"  Haven't  we  treated  her  as  one  of  us  ?  "  demanded 
she,  dabbing  her  handkerchief  in  her  eyes.  "  Since 
the  wedding,  I  mean.  Haven't  we  been  kind  to  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  think  she  understands  us  perfectly,"  said  her 
brother. 

"  I  wonder  what  she  will  do  now?  "  mused  Vivian,  in 
that  speech  casting  her  sister-in  law  out  of  her  narrow 
little  world  as  one  would  throw  aside  a  burnt-out 
match. 

"  She  will  profit  by  experience,"  said  he,  with  some 
pleasure  in  a  superior  wisdom. 

In  Mrs.  Wrandall's  sitting-room  at  the  top  of  the 
broad  stairway,  sat  the  family, —  that  is  to  say,  the 
immediate  family, —  a  solemn-faced  footman  in  front 
of  the  door  that  stood  fully  ajar  so  that  the  occupants 
might  hear  the  words  of  the  minister  as  they  ascended, 
sonorous  and  precise,  from  the  hall  below.  A  minister 
was  he  who  knew  the  buttered  side  of  his  bread.  His 
discourse  was  to  be  a  beautiful  one.  He  stood  at  the 
front  of  the  stairs  and  faced  the  assembled  listeners 
in  the  hall,  the  drawing-room  and  the  entresol,  but  his 
infinitely  touching  words  went  up  one  flight  and  lodged. 

Sara  Wrandall  sat  a  little  to  the  left  of  and  behind 


74  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

Mrs.  Redmond  Wrandall,  about  whom  were  grouped 
the  three  remaining  Wrandalls,  father,  son  and  daugh 
ter,  closely  drawn  together.  Well  to  the  fore  were 
Wrandall  uncles  and  cousins  and  aunts,  and  one  or  two 
carefully  chosen  blood-relations  to  the  mistress  of  the 
house,  whose  hand  had  long  been  set  against  kinsmen 
of  less  exalted  promise. 

The  room  was  dark.  A  forgotten  French  clock 
ticked  madly  and  tinkled  its  quarter-hours  with  sur 
passing  sprightliness.  Time  went  on  regardless.  One 
of  the  Wrandall  uncles,  obeying  a  look  from  his  wife, 
tiptoed  across  the  room  and  tried  to  find  a  way  to 
subdue  the  jingling  disturber.  But  it  chimed  in  his 
face,  and  he  put  his  black  kid  glove  over  his  lips.  The 
floor  creaked  horribly  as  he  went  back  to  his  chair. 

Beside  Sara  Wrandall,  on  the  small  pink  divan,  sat 
a  stranger  in  this  sombre  company:  a  young  woman 
in  black,  whose  pale  face  was  uncovered,  and  whose 
lashes  were  lifted  so  rarely  that  one  could  not  know  of 
the  deep,  real  pain  that  lay  behind  them,  in  her  Irish 
blue  eyes. 

She  had  arrived  at  the  house  an  hour  or  two  before 
the  time  set  for  the  ceremony,  in  company  with  the 
widow.  True  to  her  resolution,  the  widow  of  Challis 
Wrandall  had  remained  away  from  the  home  of  his 
people  until  the  last  hour.  She  had  been  consulted, 
to  be  sure,  in  regard  to  the  final  arrangements,  but  the 
meetings  had  taken  place  in  her  own  apartment,  many 
blocks  distant  from,  the  house  in  lower  Fifth  Avenue. 
The  afternoon  before  she  had  received  Redmond  Wran 
dall  and  Leslie,  his  son.  She  had  not  sent  for  them. 
They  came  perfunctorily  and  not  through  any  sense 
of  obligation.  These  two  at  least  knew  that  sympa 
thy  was  not  what  she  wanted,  but  peace.  Twice  dur- 


WHILE  THE  MOB  WAITED  75 

ing  the  two  trying  days,  Leslie  had  come  to  see  her. 
Vivian  telephoned. 

On  the  occasion  of  his  first  visit,  Leslie  had  met  the 
guest  in  the  house.  The  second  time  he  called,  he  made 
it  a  point  to  ask  Sara  all  about  her. 

It  was  he  who  gently  closed  the  door  after  the  two 
women  when,  on  the  morning  of  the  funeral,  they  en 
tered  the  dark,  flower-laden  room  in  which  stood  the 
casket  containing  the  body  of  his  brother.  He  left 
them  alone  together  in  that  room  for  half  an  hour  or 
more,  and  it  was  he  who  went  forward  to  meet  them 
when  they  came  forth.  Sara  leaned  on  his  arm  as 
she  ascended  the  stairs  to  the  room  where  the  others 
were  waiting.  The  ashen-faced  girl  followed,  her  eyes 
lowered,  her  gloved  hands  clenched. 

Mrs.  Wrandall,  the  elder,  kissed  Sara  and  drew  her 
down  beside  her  on  the  couch.  To  her  own  surprise, 
as  well  as  that  of  the  others,  Sara  broke  down  and  wept 
bitterly.  After  all,  she  was  sorry  for  Challis's  mother. 
It  was  the  human  instinct;  she  could  not  hold  out 
against  it.  And  the  older  woman  put  away  the  ancient 
grudge  she  held  against  this  mortal  enemy  and  dis 
solved  into  tears  of  real  compassion. 

A  little  later  she  whispered  brokenly  in  Sara's  ear: 
"  My  dear,  my  dear,  this  has  brought  us  together.  I 
hope  you  will  learn  to  love  me." 

Sara  caught  her  breath,  but  uttered  no  word.  She 
looked  into  her  mother-in-law's  eyes,  and  smiled  through 
her  tears.  The  Wrandalls,  looking  on  in  amaze, 
saw  the  smile  reflected  in  the  face  of  the  older  woman. 
Then  it  was  that  Vivian  crossed  quickly  and  put  her 
arms  about  the  shoulders  of  her  sister-in-law.  The 
white  flag  on  both  sides. 

Hetty  Castleton  stood  alone  and  wavering,  just  in- 


76  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

side  the  door.  No  stranger  situation  could  be  imag 
ined  than  the  one  in  which  this  unfortunate  girl  found 
herself  at  the  present  moment.  She  was  virtually  in 
the  hands  of  those  who  would  destroy  her;  she  was  in 
the  house  of  those  who  most  deeply  were  affected  by 
her  act  on  that  fatal  night.  Among  them  all  she 
stood,  facing  them,  listening  to  the  moans  and  sobs, 
and  yet  her  limbs  did  not  give  way  beneath  her.  .  .  . 

Some  one  gently  touched  her  arm.  It  was  Leslie. 
She  shrank  back,  a  fearful  look  in  her  eyes.  In  the. 
semi-darkness  he  failed  to  note  the  expression. 

"  Won't  you  sit  here?  "  he  asked,  indicating  the  little 
pink  divan  against  the  wall.  "  Forgive  me  for  letting 
you  stand  so  long." 

She  looked  about  her,  the  wild  light  still  in  her  eyes. 
She  was  like  a  rat  in  a  trap. 

Her  lips  parted,  but  the  word  of  thanks  did  not 
come  forth.  A  strange,  inarticulate  sound,  almost  a 
gasp,  came  instead.  Pallid  as  a  ghost,  she  dropped 
limply  to  the  divan,  and  dug  her  fingers  into  the  satiny 
seat.  As  if  fascinated,  she  stared  over  the  black  heads 
of  the  three  women  immediately  in  front  of  her  at  the 
full  length  portrait  hanging  where  the  light  from  the 
hall  fell  full  upon  it:  the  portrait  of  a  dashing  youth 
in  riding  togs. 

A  moment  later  Sara  Wrandall  came  over  and  sat 
beside  her.  The  girl  shivered  as  with  a  mighty  chill 
when  the  warm  hand  of  her  friend  fell  upon  hers  and 
enveloped  it  in  a  firm  clasp. 

"  His  mother  kissed  me,"  whispered  Sara.  "  Did 
you  see?  " 

The  girl  could  not  reply.  She  could  only  stare  at 
the  open  door.  A  small,  hatchet-faced  man  had  c'ome 
up  from  below  and  was  nodding  his  head  to  Leslie 


WHILE  THE  MOB  WAITED  77 

Wrandall, —  a  man  with  short  side  whiskers,  and  a 
sepulchral  look  in  his  eyes.  Then,  having  received  a 
sign  from  Leslie,  he  tiptoed  away.  Almost  instantly 
the  voices  of  people  singing  softly  came  from  some.- 
distant,  remote  part  of  the  house. 

And  then,  a  little  later,  the  perfectly  modulated 
voice  of  a  man  in  prayer. 

Back  of  her,  Wrandalls ;  beside  her,  Wrandalls ;  be 
neath  her,  friends  of  the  Wrandalls ;  outside,  the  rab 
ble,  those  who  would  join  with  these  black,  raven-like 
spectres  in  tearing  her  to  pieces  if  they  but  knew ! 

Sitting,  with  his  hand  to  his  head,  Leslie  Wrandall 
found  himself  staring  at  the  face  of  this  stranger 
among  them ;  not  with  any  definable  interest,  but  be 
cause  she  happened  to  be  in  his  line  of  vision  and  her 
face  was  so  singularly  white  that  it  stood  out  in  cameo- 
like  relief  against  all  this  ebony  setting. 

The  droning  voice  came  up  from  below,  each  well- 
chosen  word  distinct  and  clear:  tribute  beautiful  to  the 
irreproachable  character  of  the  deceased.  Leslie 
watched  the  face  of  the  girl,  curiously  fascinated  by 
the  set,  emotionless  features,  and  yet  without  a  con 
scious  interest  in  her.  He  was  dully  sensible  to  the 
fact  that  she  was  beautiful,  uncommonly  beautiful.  It 
did  not  occur  to  him  to  feel  that  she  was  out  of  place 
among  them,  that  she  belonged  downstairs.  Somehow 
she  was  a  part  of  the  surroundings,  like  the  spectre  at 
the  feast. 

If  he  could  have  witnessed  all  that  transpired  while 
Sara  was  in  the  room  below  with  her  guest  —  her 
companion,  as  he  had  come  to  regard  her  without  hav 
ing  in  fact  been  told  as  much, —  he  would  have  been 
lost  in  a  maze  of  the  most  overwhelming  emotions. 

To  go  back:     The  door  had  barely   closed  behind 


78  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

the  two  women  when  Hetty's  trembling  knees  gave  way 
beneath  her.  With  a  low  moan  of  horror,  she  slipped 
to  the  floor,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 

Sara  knelt  beside  her. 

"  Come,"  she  said  gently,  but  firmly ;  "  I  must  exact 
this  much  of  you.  If  we  are  to  go  on  together,  as  we 
have  planned,  you  must  stand  beside  me  at  his  bier. 
Together  we  must  look  upon  him  for  the  last  time. 
You  must  see  him  as  I  saw  him  up  there  in  the  country. 
I  had  my  cruel  blow  that  night.  It  is  your  turn  now. 
I  will  not  blame  you  for  what  you  did.  But  if  you 
expect  me  to  go  on  believing  that  you  did  a  brave 
thing  that  night,  you  must  convince  me  that  you  are 
not  a  coward  now.  It  is  the  only  test  I  shall  put  you 
to.  Come ;  I  know  it  is  hard,  I  know  it  is  terrible,  but 
it  is  the  true  test  of  your  ability  to  go  through  with 
it  to  the  end.  I  shall  know  then  that  you  have  the 
courage  to  face  anything  that  may  come  up." 

She  waited  a  long  time,  her  hand  on  the  girl's  shoul 
der.  At  last  Hetty  arose. 

"  You  are  right,"  she  said  hoarsely.  "  I  should  not 
be  afraid." 

Later  on,  they  sat  over  against  the  wall  beyond  the 
casket,  into  which  they  had  peered  with  widely  varying 
emotions.  Sara  had  said: 

"  You  know  that  I  loved  him." 

The  girl  put  her  hands  to  her  eyes  and  bowed  her 
head. 

"  Oh,  how  can  you  be  so  merciful  to  me?  " 

"  Because  he  was  not,"  said  Sara,  white-lipped, 
Hetty  glanced  at  the  half-averted  face  with  queer, 
indescribable  expression  in  her  eyes. 

Then  her  nerves  gave  way.  She  shrank  away  from 
the  casket,  whimpering  like  a  frightened  child,  mut- 


WHILE  THE  MOB  WAITED  79 

tering,  almost  gibbering  in  the  extremity  of  despair. 
She  had  lived  in  dread  of  this  ordeal;  it  had  been 
promised  the  day  before  by  Sara  Wrandall,  whose  will 
was  law  to  her.  Now  she  had  come  to  the  very  apex 
of  realisation.  She  felt  that  her  mind  was  going,  that 
her  blood  was  freezing.  In  response  to  a  sudden  im 
pulse  she  sprang  up  and  ran,  blindly  and  without 
thought,  bringing  up  against  the  wall  with  such  force 
that  she  dropped  to  the  floor,  quite  insensible. 

When  she  regained  her  senses,  she  was  lying  back 
in  Sara  Wrandall's  arms,  and  a  soft  faraway  voice  was 
pleading  with  her  to  wake,  to  say  something,  to  open 
her  eyes. 

If  Leslie  Wrandall  could  have  looked  in  upon  them 
at  that  moment,  or  at  any  time  during  the  half  an  hour 
that  followed,  he  would  have  known  who  was  the  slayer 
of  his  brother,  but  it  is  doubtful  if  he  could  have  had 
the  heart  to  denounce  her  to  the  world. 

When  they  were  ready  to  leave  the  room,  Hetty 
had  regained  control  of  her  nerves  to  a  most  surpris 
ing  extent,  a  condition  unmistakably  due  to  the  influ 
ence  of  the  older  woman. 

"  I  can  trust  myself  now,  Mrs.  Wrandall,"  said 
Hetty  steadily  as  they  hesitated  for  an  instant  before 
turning  the  knob  of  the  door. 

"  Then,  I  shall  ask  you  to  open  the  door,"  said  Sara, 
drawing  back. 

Without  a  word  or  a  look,  Hetty  opened  the  door 
and  permitted  the  other  to  pass  out  before  her.  Then 
she  followed,  closing  it  gently,  even  deliberately,  but 
not  without  a  swift  glance  over  her  shoulder  into  the 
depths  of  the  room  they  were  leaving. 

Of  the  two,  Sara  Wrandall  was  the  paler  as  they 
went  up  the  broad  staircase  with  Leslie. 


80  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

The  funeral  oration  by  the  Rev.  DT.  Maltby  dragged 
on.  Among  all  his  hearers  there  was  but  one  who  be 
lieved  the  things  he  said  of  Challis  Wrandall,  and  she 
was  one  of  two  persons  who,  so  the  saying  goes,  are  the 
last  to  find  a  man  out ;  his  mother  and  his  sister.  But 
in  this  instance  the  mother  was  alone.  The  silent, 
attentive  guests  on  the  lower  floor  listened  in  grim  ap 
proval:  Dr.  Maltby  was  doing  himself  proud.  Not 
one  but  all  of  them  knew  that  Maltby  knew.  And  yet 
how  soothing  he  was. 

Thus  afterwards,  to  his  wife,  on  the  way  home  after 
a  fruitful  silence,  spoke  Colonel  Berkimer,  well  known 
to  the  Tenderloin : 

"  When  I  die,  my  dear,  I  want  you  to  be  sure  to  have 
Maltby  in  for  the  sermon.  He's  really  wonderful." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  believed  all  that  he 
said,"  cried  his  wife. 

"  Certainly  not,"  he  snapped.     "  That's  the  point." 

Once  at  the  end  of  a  beautifully  worded  sentence, 
eulogistic  of  the  dead  man's  character  as  a  son  and 
husband,  the  tense  silence  of  the  room  upstairs  was 
shattered  by  the  utterance  of  a  single,  poignant  word : 

"God!" 

It  was  so  expressive  of  surprise,  of  scorn,  of  con 
tempt,  although  spoken  in  little  more  than  a  whisper, 
that  every  one  in  the  room  caught  his  or  her  breath  in 
a  sharp  little  gasp,  as  if  cringing  from  the  effect  of  an 
unexpected  shock  to  a  sensitive  nerve. 

Each  looked  at  his  neighbour  and  then  in  a  shocked 
sort  of  way  at  every  one  else,  for  no  one  could  quite 
make  out  who  had  uttered  the  word,  and  each  wondered 
if,  in  a  fit  of  abstraction,  he  could  have  done  it  him 
self.  It  unmistakably  had  been  the  voice  of  a  woman, 
but  whose?  Hetty  knew,  but  not  by  the  slightest  sign 


WHILE  THE  MOB  WAITED  81 

did  she  betray  the  fact  that  the  woman  who  sat  beside 
her  was  the  one  to  utter  the  brief  but  scathing  estimate 
of  the  minister's  eulogy. 

The  hatchet-faced  little  undertaker  stood  in  the  open 
door  again  and  solemnly  bowed  his  head  to  Leslie,  lift 
ing  his  dolorous  eyebrows  in  lieu  of  the  verbal  question. 
Receiving  a  simple  nod  in  reply,  he  announced  that  as 
soon  as  the  guests  had  departed  he  would  be  pleased  to 
have  the  family  descend  to  the  carriages. 

Outside,  the  shivering,  half-frozen  multitude  edged 
its  way  up  to  the  line  of  blue-coats  and  again  whis 
pered  the  names  of  the  departing  guests,  and  every  neck 
was  craned  in  the  effort  to  secure  the  first  view  of  the 
casket,  the  silk-hatted  pall-bearers  and  the  weeping 
members  of  the  family. 

"  They'll  be  out  with  'im  in  a  minute  now,"  said  a 
hoarse-voiced  man  who  clung  to  the  ornamental  face 
of  the  tall  gate  and  passed  back  the  word,  for  he  could 
see  beyond  the  stream  of  guests  into  the  hallway  of 
the  house. 

"  Git  down  out  o'  that,"  commanded  a  policeman 
tapping  him  sharply  with  his  night-stick. 

"  Aw,  I  ain't  botherin'  anybody  — " 

"  Git  down,  I  say !  " 

Grumbling,  the  man  slunk  back,  and  a  woman  took 
his  place.  This  was  better  for  the  crowd,  as  her  voice 
was  shriller  and  she  had  less  compunction  about  mak 
ing  herself  heard. 

A  small  boy  crept  beyond  the  line  and  peered,  round- 
eyed,  up  the  carpeted  steps.  He  received  a  sharp 
push  from  a  night-stick  and  went  blubbering  back  into 
the  crowd. 

And  all  through  the  eager,  seething  mob  went  sharp- 
eyed  men  in  plain  clothes,  searching  each  face  with 


82  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

crafty  eyes,  looking  for  the  sign  that  might  betray  the 
woman  who  had  brought  all  this  about.  They  were 
men  from  the  central  office.  Another  of  their  ilk  had 
the  freedom  of  the  house  in  the  guise  of  an  undertak 
er's  assistant.  He  watched  the  favoured  few ! 

There  is  a  saying  that  a  strange,  mysterious  force 
drags  the  murderer  to  the  scene  of  his  crime,  whether  he 
will  or  no,  to  look  with  others  upon  the  havoc  he  has 
wrought.  He  has  been  known  to  sit  beside  the  bier  of 
his  victim;  he  has  been  known  to  follow  him  to  the 
tomb ;  he  has  been  known  to  betray  himself  at  the  very 
edge  of  the  grave.  A  grim,  fantastic  thing  is  con 
science  ! 

At  last  the  crowd  gave  out  a  deep,  hissing  breath 
and  surged  forward.  They  were  bearing  Challis 
Wrandall  down  the  steps.  The  wall  of  policemen  held 
firm ;  the  morbid  hundreds  fell  back  and  glared  with 
unblinking  eyes  at  the  black  thing  that  slowly  crossed 
the  sidewalk  and  slid  noiselessly  into  the  yawning  mouth 
of  the  hearse.  No  man  in  all  that  mob  uncovered  his 
head,  no  woman  crossed  herself.  Inwardly  they  re 
viled  the  police  who  kept  them  from  seeing  all  that 
they  wanted  to  see.  They  were  being  cheated. 

Then  there  was  an  eager  shout  from  the  foremost 
in  the  throng,  and  the  word  went  singing  through  the 
crowd,  back  to  the  outer  fringe,  where  men  danced 
like  so  many  jumping- jacks  in  the  effort  to  see  above 
the  heads  of  those  in  front. 

"  Here  they  come !  "  went  the  hoarse  whisper,  like 
the  swish  of  the  wind. 

"  Stand  back,  please !  " 

"  That's  his  mother !  "  cried  a  shrill  voice,  trium 
phantly, —  even  gladly.  She  was  the  first  to  give  the 
news. 


WHILE  THE  MOB  WAITED  83 

"  Keep    back ! "    growled    the    police,    lifting    their 
clubs. 

"  Which  one  is  his  wife?  " 

"  Has  she  come  out  yet?  " 

"  Get  out  of  my  way,  damn  you ! " 

"  Say,  if  these  cops  was  doing  their  duty  they'd  — 

"  That's  what  I  say  1     No  wonder  they  never  ketch 
anybody." 

"  Say,  they  don't  seem  to  be  takin'  it  very  hard.     I 
thought  they'd  be  cryin'  like  — " 

"Is  that  his  wife?" 

"  Poor  little  thing!     Ouch!     You  big  ruffian  !  " 

"  Swell  business,  eh?  " 

"  She    won't    be     sayin'     '  Where's    my    wanderin' 
boy—"5 

"  If  we  had  police  in  this  city  that  could  ketch  a 
street  car  we'd  — " 

"  That's  old  man  Wrandall.  I've  waited  on  him 
dozens  o'  times." 

"  Did  they  have  any  children?  " 

Up  in  the  front  rank  stood  a  slim  little  thing  with  yel 
low  hair  and  carmined  lips,  wrapped  in  costly  furs  yet 
shivering  as  if  chilled  to  the  bone.  Four  plain  clothes 
men  were  watching  her  narrowly.  She  was  known 
to  have  been  one  of  Challis  WrandalPs  associate* 
When  she  shrank  back  into  the  crowd  and  made  her  way 
to  the  outskirts,  hurrying  as  if  pursued  by  ghosts,  two 
men  followed  close  behind,  and  kept  her  in  sight  for 
many  blocks. 

The  motors  and  carriages  rolled  away,  and  there 
was  left  only  the  policemen  and  the  unsatiated  mob. 
They  watched  the  undertaker's  assistant  remove  the 
great  bow  of  black  from  the  door  of  the  house. 


84 

By  the  end  of  the  week  the  murder  of  Challis  Wran- 
dall  was  forgotten  by  all  save  the  police.  The  inquest 
was  over,  the  law  was  baffled,  the  city  was  serenely 
waiting  for  its  next  sensation.  No  one  cared. 

Leslie  Wrandall  went  down  to  the  steamer  to  see  his 
sister-in-law  off  for  Europe. 

"  Good-bye,  Miss  Castleton,"  he  said,  as  he  shook 
the  hand  of  the  slim  young  Englishwoman  at  parting. 
"  Take  good  care  of  Sara.  She  needs  a  friend,  a  good 
friend,  now.  Keep  her  over  there  until  she  has  —  for 
gotten." 


CHAPTER  V 

DISCUSSING    A    SISTER-IN-LAW 

"  You  remember  my  sister-in-law,  don't  you,  Brandy?  " 
was  the  question  that  Leslie  Wrandall  put  to  a  friend 
one  afternoon,  as  they  sat  drearily  in  a  window  of  one 
of  the  fashionable  up-town  clubs,  a  little  more  than  a 
year  after  the  events  described  in  the  foregoing  chap 
ters.  Drearily,  I  have  said,  for  the  reason  that  it  was 
Sunday,  and  raining  at  that. 

"  I  met  Mrs.  Wrandall  a  few  years  ago  in  Rome," 
said  his  companion,  renewing  interest  in  a  conversation 
that  had  died  some  time  before  of  its  own  exhaustion. 
"  She's  most  attractive.  I  saw  her  but  once.  I  think 
it  was  at  somebody's  fete." 

"  She's  returning  to  New  York  the  end  of  the  month," 
said  Leslie.  "  Been  abroad  for  over  a  year.  She  had 
a  villa  at  Nice  this  winter." 

"  I  remember  her  quite  well.  I  was  of  an  age  then 
to  be  particularly  sensitive  to  female  loveliness.  If 
I'd  been  staying  on  in  Rome,  I  should  have  screwed  up 
the  courage,  I'm  sure,  to  have  asked  her  to  sit  for  me." 

"  Lord  love  you,  man,  she's  posed  for  half  the  paint 
ers  in  the  world,  it  seems  to  me.  Like  the  duchesses  that 
Romney  and  those  old  chaps  used  to  paint.  It  occurs 
to  me  those  grand  old  dames  did  nothing  but  sit  for 
portraits,  year  in  and  year  out,  all  their  lives.  I  don't 
see  where  they  found  time  to  scratch  up  the  love  affairs 
they're  reported  to  have  had.  There  always  must  have 
been  some  painter  or  other  hanging  around.  I  re 
member  reading  that  the  Duchess  of  —  I  can't  remem 
ber  the  name  —  posed  a  hundred  and  sixty-nine  times, 

85 


86  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

for  nearly  as  many  painters.  Sara's  not  so  bad  as  all 
that,  of  course,  but  I  don't  exaggerate  when  I  say  she's 
been  painted  a  dozen  times  —  and  hung  in  twice  as 
many  exhibits." 

"  I  know,"  said  the  other  with  a  smile.  "  I've  seen 
a  few  of  them." 

"  The  best  of  them  all  is  hanging  in  her  place  up 
in  the  country,  old  man.  It's  the  one  my  brother  liked. 
A  Belgian  fellow  did  it  a  couple  of  years  ago.  Never 
been  exhibited,  so  of  course  you  haven't  seen  it.  Chal- 
lis  wouldn't  consent  to  its  being  revealed  to  the  vulgar 
gaze,  he  loved  it  so  much." 

"  I  like  that,"  resented  Brandon  Booth,  with  a  mild 
glare. 

"  Lot  of  common,  vulgar  people  do  hang  about  pic 
ture  galleries,  you  will  have  to  admit  that,  Brandy. 
They  visit  'em  in  the  winter  time  to  get  in  where  it's 
warm,  and  in  the  summer  time  they  go  because  it's  nice 
and  shady.  That's  the  sort  I  mean." 

"  What  do  you  know  about  art  or  the  people  who  — " 

"  I  know  all  there  is  to  know  about  it,  old  chap. 
Haven't  we  got  Gainsboroughs,  and  Turners,  and  Con 
stables,  and  Corots  hanging  all  over  the  place?  And 
a  lot  of  others,  too.  Reynolds,  Romney  and  Rae- 
burn, —  the  three  R's.  And  didn't  I  tag  along  with 
mother  to  picture  dealers'  shops  and  auctions  when 
every  blessed  one  of  'em  was  bought?  I  know  all  about 
it,  let  me  tell  you.  I  can  tell  you  what  kind  of  an  '  at 
mosphere  '  a  painting's  got,  with  my  eyes  closed ;  and 
as  for  '  quality  '  and  *  luminosity  '  and  *  broadness  * 
and  *  handling,'  I  know  more  this  minute  about  such 
things  than  any  auctioneer  in  the  world.  I  am  a  past 
master  at  it,  believe  me.  One  can't  go  around  buy 
ing  paintings  with  his  mother  without  getting  a  liberal 


DISCUSSING  A  SISTER-IN-LAW  87 

education  in  art.  She  began  taking  me  when  I  was  ten 
years  old.  Challis  wouldn't  go,  so  she  made  me  do  it. 
Then  I  always  had  to  go  back  with  her  when  she 
wanted  to  exchange  them  for  something  else  the  dealer 
assured  her  she  ought  to  have  in  our  collection,  and 
which  invariably  cost  three  times  as  much.  No,  my 
dear  fellow,  you  are  very  much  mistaken  when  you  say 
that  I  don't  know  anything  about  art.  I  am  a  walk 
ing  price-list  of  all  the  art  this  side  of  the  Dresden 
gallery.  You  should  not  forget  that  we  are  a  very  old 
New  York  family.  We've  been  collecting  for  over 
twenty  years." 

Both  laughed.  He  liked  Wrandall  best  when  he 
affected  mockery  of  this  sort,  although  he  was  keenly 
alive  to  a  certain  breath  of  self-glorification  in  his 
raillery.  Leslie  felt  a  delicious  sense  of  security  in 
railing  at  family  limitations:  he  knew  that  no  one 
was  likely  to  take  him  seriously. 

"  Nevertheless,  your  mother  has  some  really  fine 
paintings  in  the  collection,"  proclaimed  Booth  amia 
bly,  also  descending  to  snobbishness  without  really 
meaning  to  do  so.  He  considered  Velasquez  to  be  the 
superior  of  all  those  mentioned  by  Wrandall,  and  there 
was  the  end  to  it,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned.  It  was 
ever  a  source  of  wonder  to  him  that  Mrs.  Wrandall 
didn't  "  trade  in  "  everything  else  she  possessed  for  a 
single  great  Velasquez. 

"  Getting  back  to  Sara, —  my  sister-in-law, —  why 
don't  you  ask  her  to  sit  for  you  this  summer?  She's 
not  going  out,  you  know,  and  time  will  hang  so  heavily 
on  her  hands  that  she  will  even  welcome  another  por 
trait  agony." 

"  I  can't  ask  her  to  — " 

"  I'll  do  the  asking,  if  you  say  the  word." 


88  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  Don't  be  an  ass." 

"  I'm  quite  willing  to  be  one,  if  it  will  help  you  out, 
old  man,"  said  Leslie  cheerfully. 

"  And  make  one  of  me  as  well,  I  suppose.  She'd 
think  me  a  frightful  cub  after  all  those  other  fellows. 
After  Sargent,  me!  Ho,  ho!  She'd  laugh  in  my 
face." 

"  If  you  could  paint  that  smile  of  hers,  Brandy, 
you'd  make  Romney  look  like  an  amateur.  Most  won 
derful  smile.  It's  a  splendid  idea.  Let  her  laugh  in 
your  face,  as  you  say;  then  paint  like  the  devil  while 
she's  doing  it,  and  your  reputation  is  made  for  — " 

"  Will  you  have  another  drink?  " 

"  No,  thanks.  I  can  change  the  subject  without  it. 
What  time  is  it?" 

Both  looked  at  their  watches,  and  put  them  back 
again  without  remark  to  resume  the  interrupted  con 
templation  of  Fifth  Avenue  in  the  waning  light  of  a 
drab,  drizzly  day.  A  man  in  a  shiny  "  slicker  "  was 
pushing  a  sweep  and  shovel  in  the  centre  of  the  thor 
oughfare.  They  wondered  how  long  it  would  be  be 
fore  a  motor  struck  him. 

Brandon  Booth  was  of  an  old  Philadelphia  family: 
an  old  and  wealthy  family.  Both  views  considered,  he 
was  qualified  to  walk  hand  in  glove  with  the  fastidious 
Wrandalls.  Leslie's  mother  was  charmed  with  him  be 
cause  she  was  also  the  mother  of  Vivian.  The  fact 
that  he  went  in  for  portrait  painting  and  seemed  averse 
to  subsisting  on  the  generosity  of  his  father,  preferring 
to  live  by  his  talent,  in  no  way  operated  against  him,  so 
far  as  Mrs.  Wrandall  was  concerned.  That  was  his 
lookout,  not  hers ;  if  he  elected  to  that  sort  of  thing, 
all  well  and  good.  He  could  afford  to  be  eccentric; 
there  remained,  in  the  perspective  he  scorned,  the  bulk 


DISCUSSING  A  SISTER-IN-LAW  89 

of  a  huge  fortune  to  offset  whatever  idiosyncrasies  he 
might  choose  to  cultivate.  Some  day,  in  spite  of  him 
self,  she  contended  serenely,  he  would  be  very,  very 
rich.  What  could  be  more  desirable  than  fame,  family 
and  fortune  all  heaped  together  and  thrust  upon  one 
exceedingly  interesting  and  handsome  young  man? 
For  he  would  be  famous,  she  was  sure  of  it.  Every  one 
said  that  of  him,  even  the  critics,  although  she  didn't 
have  much  use  for  critics,  retaining  opinions  of  her 
own  that  seldom  agreed  with  theirs.  It  was  enough 
for  her  that  he  was  a  Booth,  and  knew  how  to  behave 
in  a  drawing-room,  because  he  belonged  there  and  was 
not  lugged  in  by  the  scruff  of  an  ill-fitting  dress-suit 
to  pose  as  a  Bohemian  celebrity.  Moreover,  he  was  a 
level-headed,  well-balanced  fellow  in  spite  of  his  call 
ing;  which  was  saying  a  great  deal,  proclaimed  the 
mother  of  Vivian  in  opposition  to  her  own  argument 
that  painters  never  made  satisfactory  or  even  satisfy 
ing  husbands :  the  artistic  temperament  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing  getting  in  the  way  of  compatibility. 

He  had  been  the  pupil  of  celebrated  draughtsmen  and 
painters  in  Europe,  and  had  exhibited  a  sincerity  of 
purpose  that  was  surprising,  all  things  considered. 
The  mere  fact  that  he  was  not  obliged  to  paint  in  order 
to  obtain  a  living,  was  sufficient  cause  for  wonder 
among  the  artists  he  met  and  studied  with  or  under. 
At  first  they  regarded  him  as  a  youth  with  a  fancy 
that  soon  would  pass,  leaving  him  high  and  dry  and 
safe  on  something  steadier  than  Art.  They  couldn't 
understand  a  rich  man's  son  really  having  aspirations, 
although  they  granted  him  temperament  and  ability. 
But  he  went  about  it  so  earnestly,  so  systematically, 
that  they  were  compelled  to  alter  the  time-honoured 
tune  and  to  sing  praises  instead  of  whistling  their  in- 


90  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

suiting  "  I-told-you-sos."  To  the  disgust  of  many,  he 
had  a  real  purpose  supported  by  talent,  and  that  was 
what  they  couldn't  understand  in  a  rich  man's  son. 
They  hated  to  see  their  traditions  spoiled.  The  only 
way  in  which  they  could  account  for  it  all  was  that  he 
was  an  American,  and  Americans  are  always  doing 
the  things  one  doesn't  expect  them  to  do,  especially 
along  grooves  that  ought  to  be  kept  closed  by  tra 
dition. 

When  he  said  good-bye  to  his  European  friends  and 
masters,  and  set  his  face  toward  home,  they  took  off 
their  hats  to  him,  so  to  speak,  and  agreed  that  he  had 
a  brilliant  future,  without  a  thought  of  the  legacy  that 
one  day  would  be  his. 

His  studio  in  New  York  was  not  a  fashionable  rest 
ing  place.  It  was  a  work-shop.  You  could  have  tea 
there,  of  course,  and  you  were  sure  to  meet  people  you 
knew  and  liked,  but  it  was  quite  as  much  of  a  work-shop 
as  any  you  could  mention.  He  was  not  a  dabbler  in 
art,  not  a  mere  dauber  of  pigments :  he  was  an  artist. 
People  argued  that  because  he  was  a  thoroughbred 
and  doomed  to  be  rich,  his  conscious  egotism  would 
show  itself  at  once  in  the  demand  for  ridiculously  high 
prices.  In  that  they  happily  were  fooled,  not  to  say 
disappointed.  He  began  by  painting  the  portrait  of 
a  well-known  society  woman  of  great  wealth,  who  sat 
to  him  because  she  wanted  to  "  take  him  up,"  and  who 
was  absolutely  disconsolate  when  he  announced,  at  the 
end  of  the  sittings,  that  his  price  was  five  hundred  dol 
lars.  She  would  not  believe  her  ears. 

"  Why,  my  dear  Brandon,  you  will  be  ruined  —  ut 
terly  ruined  —  if  it  becomes  known  that  you  ask  less 
than  five  thousand,"  she  had  cried,  almost  in  tears. 
"  No  one  will  come  to  you." 


DISCUSSING  A  SISTER-IN-LAW  91 

He  had  smiled.  "  A  master's  price  is  for  a  master, 
not  for  a  tyro.  If  they  want  to  pay  five  thousand  dol 
lars  for  a  portrait,  I  can  recommend  a  dozen  or  more 
gentlemen  whose  work  is  worth  it.  Mine  isn't.  Some 
day  I  hope  to  be  able  to  say  five  thousand  with  a  great 
deal  more  assurance  than  I  now  say  five  hundred,  Mrs. 
Wheeler,  but  it  won't  be  until  I  have  courage,  not 
nerve." 

"  But  nobody  will  sit  for  a  five  hundred  dollar  por 
trait,"  she  expostulated.  "  Really,  Brandon,  I  pre 
fer  to  pay  five  thousand.  I  can't  —  I  simply  cannot 
tell  people  that  I  paid  only  five  — " 

"  Will  you  give  six  hundred?  "  he  asked,  his  smile 
broadening. 

"  Absurd ! " 

"  Seven  hundred?" 

"  Why,  it  sounds  as  if  you  were  jewing  me  up,  not 
I  trying  to  jew  you  down,"  she  cried,  dismayed. 

"  That's  the  point,"  he  said,  with  mock  gravity. 
"  If  my  price  isn't  what  it  ought  to  be  in  your  opinion, 
it  is  only  fair  that  I  should  make  concessions.  My  pic 
ture  is  worth  five  hundred  dollars,  but  I  am  willing  to 
do  a  little  better  than  that  by  you.  I  will  make  it 
seven-fifty  to  you,  but  not  a  cent  more." 

"  Can't  I  jew  you  up  any  higher,  dear  boy?  " 

"  No,"  with  a  smile ;  "  but  if  you  will  consent  to  sit 
to  me  ten  years  from  now,  I  promise  faithfully  to  ask 
five  thousand  of  you  without  a  blush." 

"  Ah,  but  ten  years  from  now  I  should  blush  to  even 
think  of  having  my  portrait  painted." 

"  Ten  years  will  make  no  change  in  you,"  said  he 
gallantly,  "  but  I  expect  them  to  make  quite  another 
artist  of  me." 

And  so  his  price  was  established  for  the  time  being. 


92  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

He  offset  the  chilling  effect  of  the  low  figure  by  de 
liberately  declining  commissions  to  paint  women  who 
fell  below  a  rather  severe  standard  of  personal  attract 
iveness.  Gross  women  were  not  allowed  to  crowd  his 
canvases ;  ugly  ones  who  succeeded  in  tempting  him 
were  surprised  to  find  how  ugly  they  really  were  when 
the  portrait  was  finished.  He  made  it  a  point  never 
to  lie  about  a  woman,  not  even  on  canvas.  It  made  him 
very  unpopular  with  certain  ladies  who  wanted  to  be 
lied  about  —  on  canvas. 

As  the  result  of  his  rather  independent  attitude,  he 
had  more  commissions  than  he  could  fill.  When  it  got 
about  that  he  cared  to  paint  only  attractive  women,  his 
studio  was  besieged  by  ladies  of  a  curious  turn  of  mind. 
If  they  discovered  that  he  was  willing  to  paint  them, 
they  blissfully  dropped  the  matter  and  went  happily 
on  their  way.  If  they  found  that  his  time  was  so  fully 
occupied  that  he  could  not  paint  them  they  urged  him 
to  reconsider  —  even  offering  to  quadruple  his  price 
if  he  would  only  "  do  "  them.  One  exceedingly  plain 
woman,  who  couldn't  be  reconciled  to  Nature,  offered 
him  twenty  thousand  dollars  if  he  would  paint  her  for 
the  Metropolitan  Museum.  Another  asked  him  if  he 
was  a  pupil  of  Gainsborough.  Finding  that  he  was  not, 
she  asked  why  not,  with  all  the  money  he  had  at  his 
command. 

He  had  been  in  New  York  for  the  better  part  of  two 
years  at  the  time  he  is  introduced  into  this  narrative. 
Years  of  his  life  had  been  spent  abroad,  yet  he  was  not 
a  stranger  in  a  strange  land  when  he  took  up  his  resi 
dence  in  Gotham.  Society  opened  its  arms  to  him.  It 
was  like  a  home-coming.  Had  he  been  a  bridge  player, 
his  coronation  might  have  been  complete. 

Booth  was  thirty, —  perhaps  a  year  or  two  older ; 


DISCUSSING  A  SISTER-IN-LAW  93 

tall,  dark  and  good-looking1.  The  air  of  the  thorough 
bred  marked  him.  He  did  not  affect  loose  flowing  cra 
vats  and  baggy  trousers,  nor  was  he  careless  about 
his  finger-nails.  He  was  simply  the  ordinary,  every 
day  sort  of  chap  you  would  meet  in  Fifth  Avenue  dur 
ing  parade  hours,  and  you  would  take  a  second  look 
at  him  because  of  his  face  and  manner  but  not  on  ac 
count  of  his  dress.  Some  of  his  ancestors  came  over 
ahead  of  the  Mayflower,  but  he  did  not  gloat. 

Leslie  Wrandall  was  his  closest  friend  and  harshest 
critic.  It  didn't  really  matter  to  Booth  what  Leslie 
said  of  his  paintings :  he  quite  understood  that  he  didn't 
know  anything  about  them. 

"When  does  Mrs.  Wrandall  return?"  asked  the 
painter,  after  a  long  period  of  silence  spent  in  con 
templation  of  the  gleaming  pavement  beyond  the  club's 
window. 

"  That's  queer,"  said  Leslie,  looking  up.  "  I  was 
thinking  of  Sara  myself.  She  sails  next  week.  I've 
had  a  letter  asking  me  to  open  her  house  in  the  country. 
Her  place  is  about  two  miles  from  father's.  It  hasn't 
been  opened  in  two  years.  Her  father  built  it  fifteen  or 
twenty  years  ago,  and  left  it  to  her  when  he  died.  She 
and  Challis  spent  several  summers  there." 

"  Vivian  took  me  through  it  one  afternoon  last  sum 
mer." 

"  It  must  have  been  quite  as  much  of  a  novelty  to  her 
as  it  was  to  you,  old  chap,"  said  Leslie  gloomily. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Vivian's  a  bit  of  a  snob.  She  never  liked  the  place 
because  old  man  Gooch  built  it  out  of  worsteds.  She 
never  went  there." 

"  But  the  old  man's  been  dead  for  years." 

"  That  doesn't  matter.     The  fact  is,  Vivian  didn't 


94 

quite  take  to  Sara  until  after  —  well,  until  after  Chal- 
lis  died.  We're  dreadful  snobs,  Brandy,  the  whole  lot 
of  us.  Sara  was  quite  good  enough  for  a  much  better 
man  than  my  brother.  She  really  couldn't  help  the 
worsteds,  you  know.  I'm  very  fond  of  her,  and  always 
have  been.  We're  pals.  'Gad,  it  was  a  fearful  slap 
at  the  home  folks  when  Challis  justified  Sara  by  getting 
snuffed  out  the  way  he  did." 

Booth  made  an  attempt  to  change  the  subject,  but 
Wrandall  got  back  to  it. 

"  Since  then  we've  all  been  exceedingly  sweet  on  Sara. 
Not  because  we  want  to  be,  mind  you,  but  because  we're 
afraid  she'll  marry  some  chap  who  wouldn't  be  accept 
able  to  us." 

"  I  should  consider  that  a  very  neat  way  out  of  it," 
said  Booth  coldly. 

"  Not  at  all.  You  see,  Challis  was  fond  of  Sara, 
in  spite  of  everything.  He  left  a  will  and  under  it 
she  came  in  for  all  he  had.  As  that  includes  a  third 
interest  in  our  extremely  refined  and  irreproachable 
business,  it  would  be  a  deuce  of  a  trick  on  us  if  she  mar 
ried  one  of  the  common  people  and  set  him  up  amongst 
us,  willy-nilly.  We  don't  want  strange  bed-fellows. 
We're  too  snug  —  and,  I  might  say,  too  smug.  Down 
in  her  heart,  mother  is  saying  to  herself  it  would  be 
just  like  Sara  to  get  even  with  us  by  doing  just  that 
sort  of  a  trick.  Of  course,  Sara  is  rich  enough  without 
accepting  a  sou  under  the  will,  but  she's  a  canny  per 
son.  She  hasn't  handed  it  back  to  us  on  a  silver  plat 
ter,  with  thanks;  still,  on  the  other  hand,  she  refuses 
to  meddle.  She  makes  us  feel  pretty  small.  She  won't 
sell  out  to  us.  She  just  sits  tight.  That's  what  gets 
under  the  skin  with  mother." 

"  I  wouldn't  say  that,  Les,  if  I  were  in  your  place." 


DISCUSSING  A  SISTER-IN-LAW  95 

"  It  is  a  rather  priggish  thing  to  say,  isn't  it?  " 

«  Rather." 

"  You  see,  I'm  the  only  one  who  really  took  sides  with 
Sara.  I  forget  myself  sometimes.  She  was  such  a 
brick,  all  those  years." 

Booth  was  silent  for  a  moment,  noting  the  reflective 
look  in  his  companion's  eyes. 

"  I  suppose  the  police  haven't  given  up  the  hope 
that  sooner  or  later  the  —  er  —  the  woman  will  do 
something  to  give  herself  away,"  said  he. 

"  They  don't  take  any  stock  in  my  theory  that  she 
made  way  with  herself  the  same  night.  I  was  talking 
with  the  chief  yesterday.  He  says  that  any  one  who 
had  wit  to  cover  up  her  tracks  as  she  did,  is  not  the  kind 
to  make  way  with  herself.  Perhaps  he's  right.  It 
sounds  reasonable.  'Gad,  I  felt  sorry  for  the  poor 
girl  they  had  up  last  spring.  She  went  through  the 
third  degree,  if  ever  any  one  did,  but,  by  Jove,  she 
came  out  of  it  all  right.  The  Ashtley  girl,  you  re 
member.  I've  dreamed  about  that  girl,  Brandy,  and 
what  they  put  her  through.  It's  a  sort  of  nightmare 
to  me,  even  when  I'm  awake.  Oh,  they've  questioned 
others  as  well,  but  she  was  the  only  one  to  have  the 
screws  twisted  in  just  that  way." 

"  Where  is  she  now?  " 

"  She's  comfortable  enough  now.  When  I  wrote  to 
Sara  about  what  she'd  been  through,  she  settled  a  neat 
bit  of  money  on  her,  and  she'll  never  want  for  anything. 
She's  out  West  somewhere,  with  her  mother  and  sisters. 
I  tell  you,  Sara's  a  wonder.  She's  got  a  heart  of 
gold." 

"  I  look  forward  to  meeting  her,  old  man." 

"  I  was  with  her  for  a  few  weeks  this  winter.  In 
Nice,  you  know.  Vivian  stayed  on  for  a  week,  but 


96  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

mother  had  to  get  to  the  baths.  'Gad,  I  believe  she 
hated  to  go.  Sara's  got  a  most  adorable  girl  stay 
ing  with  her.  A  daughter  of  Colonel  Castleton,  and 
she's  connected  in  some  way  with  the  Murgatroyds  — 
old  Lord  Murgatroyd,  you  know.  I  think  her  mother 
was  a  niece  of  the  old  boy.  Anyhow,  mother  and  Viv 
ian  have  taken  a  great  fancy  to  her.  That's  proof  of 
the  pudding." 

"  I  think  Vivian  mentioned  a  companion  of  some 
sort." 

"  You  wouldn't  exactly  call  her  a  companion,"  said 
Leslie.  "  She's  got  money  to  burn,  I  take  it.  Quite 
keeps  up  with  Sara  in  making  it  fly,  and  that's  saying 
a  good  deal  for  her  resources.  I  think  it's  a  pose  on 
her  part,  this  calling  herself  a  companion.  An  English 
joke,  eh?  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she's  an  old  friend  of 
Sara's  and  my  brother's  too.  Knew  them  in  England. 
Most  delightful  girl.  Oh,  I  say,  old  man,  she's  the 
one  for  you  to  paint."  Leslie  waxed  enthusiastic.  "  A 
type,  a  positive  type.  Never  saw  such  eyes  in  all  my 
life.  Dammit,  they  haunt  you.  You  dream  about 
'em." 

"  You  seem  to  be  hard  hit,"  said  Booth  indifferently. 
He  was  watching  the  man  in  the  "  slicker  "  through 
moody  eyes. 

"  Oh,  nothing  like  that,"  disclaimed  Leslie,  with  un 
necessary  promptness.  "  But  if  I  were  given  to  that 
sort  of  thing,  I'd  be  bowled  over  in  a  minute.  Posi 
tively  adorable  face.  If  I  thought  you  had  it  in  you  to 
paint  a  thing  as  it  really  is,  I'd  commission  you  myself 
to  do  a  miniature  for  me,  just  to  have  it  around  where 
I  could  pick  it  up  when  I  liked  and  hold  it  between  my 
hands,  just  as  I've  often  wanted  to  hold  the  real  thing." 

"  Come,  come !     You're  dotty  about  her." 


DISCUSSING  A  SISTER-IN-LAW  97 

"  Get  Vivian  to  tell  you  about  her,"  said  Leslie  sweep- 
ingly.  "  Come  down  and  have  dinner  with  me  to-night. 
She'll  bear  out  — " 

"  I'll  take  your  word  for  it.  Thanks  for  the  bid, 
but  I  can't  come.  Dining  at  the  Ritz  with  Joey  and 
Linda.  I  think  I'll  be  off." 

He  stretched  himself,  took  the  final,  reluctant  look 
of  the  artist  at  the  "  slicker  "  man,  and  moved  away. 
Leslie  called  after  him: 

"  Wait  till  you  see  her." 

"  All  right.     I'll  wait." 

Sara  Wrandall  returned  to  New  York  at  the  end  of 
the  month,  and  Leslie  met  her  at  the  dock,  as  he  did 
on  an  occasion  fourteen  months  earlier.  Then  she 
came  in  on  a  fierce  gale  from  the  wintry  Atlantic ;  this 
time  the  air  was  soft  and  balmy  and  sweet  with  the 
kindness  of  spring.  It  was  May  and  the  sea  was  blue, 
the  land  was  green. 

Again  she  went  to  the  small,  exclusive  hotel  near  the 
Park.  Her  apartment  was  closed,  the  butler  and  his 
wife  and  all  of  their  hastily  recruited  company  being 
in  the  country,  awaiting  her  arrival  from  town.  Les 
lie  attended  to  everything.  He  lent  his  resourceful 
man-servant  and  his  motor  to  his  lovely  sister-in-law, 
and  saw  to  it  that  his  mother  and  Vivian  sent  flowers 
to  the  ship.  Redmond  Wrandall  called  at  the  hotel 
immediately  after  banking  hours,  kissed  his  daughter- 
in-law,  and  delivered  an  ultimatum  second-hand  from 
the  power  at  home:  she  was  to  come  to  dinner  and 
bring  Miss  Castleton.  A  little  quiet  family  dinner, 
you  know,  because  they  were  all  in  mourning,  he  said  in 
conclusion,  vaguely  realising  all  the  while  that  it  really 
wasn't  necessary  to  supply  the  information,  but,  for 


98  THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

the  life  of  him,  unable  to  think  of  anything  else  to  say 
under  the  circumstances.  Somehow  it  .seemed  to  him 
that  while  Sara  was  in  black  she  was  not  in  mourning 
in  the  same  sense  that  the  rest  of  them  were.  It  seemed 
only  right  to  acquaint  her  with  the  conditions  in  his 
household.  And  he  knew  that  he  deserved  the  scowl 
that  Leslie  bestowed  upon  him. 

Sara  accepted,  much  to  his  surprise  and  gratification. 
He  had  been  rather  dubious  about  it.  It  would  not 
have  surprised  him  in  the  least  if  she  had  declined  the 
invitation,  feeling,  as  he  did,  that  he  had  in  a  way  come 
to  her  with  a  white  flag  or  an  olive  branch  or  whatever 
it  is  that  a  combative  force  utilises  when  it  wants  to 
surrender  in  the  cause  of  humanity. 

Leslie  was  a  very  observing  person.  It  might  have 
been  said  of  him  that  he  was  always  on  the  lookout  for 
the  things  that  most  people  were  unlikely  to  notice: 
the  trivial  things  that  really  were  important.  He  not 
only  took  in  his  father's  amiable  blunder,  but  caught 
the  curious  expression  in  Hetty's  dark  blue  eyes,  and 
the  sharp  almost  inaudible  catch  of  her  breath.  The 
gleam  was  gone  in  an  instant,  but  it  made  an  impres 
sion  on  him.  He  found  himself  wondering  if  the  girl 
was  a  snob  as  well  as  the  rest  of  them.  The  look  in 
her  eyes  betrayed  unmistakable  surprise  and  —  yes,  he 
was  quite  sure  of  it  —  dismay  when  Sara  accepted  the 
invitation  to  dine.  Was  it  possible  that  the  lovely  Miss 
Castleton  considered  herself  —  but  no !  Of  course  it 
couldn't  be  that.  The  Wrandalls  were  good  enough  for 
dukes  and  duchesses.  Still  he  could  not  get  beyond  the 
fact  that  he  had  seen  the  look  of  disapproval.  'Gad, 
thought  he,  it  was  almost  a  look  of  appeal.  He  made 
up  his  mind,  as  he  stood  there  chatting  with  her,  that 
he  would  find  out  from  Vivian  what  his  mother  had 


DISCUSSING  A  SISTER-IN-LAW  99 

done  to  create  an  unpleasant  estimate  of  the  family  in 
the  eyes  of  this  gentle,  refined  cousin  of  old  Lord  Mur- 
gatroyd. 

He  was  quite  as  quick  to  detect  the  satirical  smile 
in  Sara's  frank,  amused  eyes  as  she  graciously  accepted 
the  invitation  to  the  home  whose  doors  had  only  been 
half-open  to  her  in  the  past.  It  scratched  his  pride  a 
bit  to  think  of  the  opinion  she  must  have  of  the  family, 
and  he  was  inexpressibly  glad  that  she  could  not  con 
sistently  class  him  with  the  others.  He  found  himself 
feeling  a  bit  sorry  for  the  old  gentleman,  and  hoped  that 
he  missed  the  touch  of  irony  in  Sara's  voice. 

Old  Mr.  Wrandall  floundered  from  one  invitation  to 
another. 

"  Of  course,  Sara,  my  dear,  you  will  want  to  go  out 
to  the  cemetery  to-morrow.  I  shall  be  only  too  ready 
to  accompany  you.  We  have  erected  a  splendid  — 

"  No,  thank  you,  Mr.  Wrandall,"  she  interrupted 
gently.  "  I  shall  not  go  to  the  cemetery." 

Leslie  intervened.  "  You  understand,  don't  you, 
father?  "  he  said,  rather  out  of  patience. 

The  old  gentleman  lowered  his  head.  "  Yes,  yes," 
he  hastened  to  say.  "  Quite  so,  quite  so.  Then  we 
may  expect  you  at  eight,  Sara,  and  you,  Miss  Castle- 
ton.  Mrs.  Wrandall  is  looking  forward  to  seeing  you 
again.  It  isn't  often  she  takes  a  liking  to  —  ahem ! 
I  beg  your  pardon,  Leslie?  " 

"  I  was  just  going  to  suggest  that  we  move  along, 
dad.  I  fancy  you  want  to  get  at  your  trunks,  Sara. 
Smuggled  a  few  things  through,  eh?  Women  never 
miss  a  chance  to  get  a  couple  of  dozen  dresses  through, 
as  you'll  discover  if  you  become  a  real  American,  Miss 
Castleton.  It's  in  the  blood." 

Mr.  Wrandall  fell  into  another  trap.     "  Now  please 


100          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

remember  that  we  are  to  dine  very  informally,"  he 
hastened  to  say,  his  mind  on  the  smuggled  gowns.  It 
was  his  experience  that  gowns  that  escaped  duty  in 
variably  were  "  creations." 

Leslie  got  him  away. 

As  soon  as  they  were  alone,  Hetty  turned  to  her 
friend. 

"Oh,  Sara,  can't  you  go  without  me?  Tell  them 
that  I  am  ill  —  suddenly  ill.  I  —  I  don't  think  it  right 
or  honourable  of  me  to  accept  — " 

Sara  shook  her  head,  and  the  words  died  on  the  girl's 
lips. 

"  You  must  play  the  game,  Hetty." 

"  It's  —  very  hard,"  murmured  the  other,  her  face 
very  white  and  bleak. 

"  I  know,  my  dear,"  said  Sara  gently. 

"  If  they  should  ever  find  out,"  gasped  the  girl, 
suddenly  giving  way  to  the  dread  that  had  been  lying 
dormant  all  these  months. 

"  They  will  never  know  the  truth  unless  you  choose 
to  enlighten  them,"  said  Sara,  putting  her  arm  about 
the  girl's  shoulders  and  drawing  her  close. 

"  You  never  cease  to  be  wonderful,  Sara, —  so  very 
wonderful,"  cried  the  girl,  with  a  look  of  worship  in  her 
eyes. 

Sara  regarded  her  in  silence  for  a  moment,  reflecting. 
Then,  with  a  swift  rush  of  tears  to  her  eyes,  she  cried 
fiercely : 

"  You  must  never,  never  tell  me  all  that  happened, 
Hetty!  You  must  not  speak  it  with  your  own  lips." 

Hetty's  eyes  grew  dark  with  pain  and  wonder. 

"  That  is  the  thing  I  can't  understand  in  you,  Sara," 
she  said  slowly. 

"  We   must   not   speak   of  it !  " 


DISCUSSING  A  SISTER-IN-LAW         101 

Hetty's  bosom  heaved.  "  Speak  of  it !  "  she  cried, 
absolute  agony  in  her  voice.  "  Have  I  not  kept  it 
locked  in  my  heart  since  that  awful  day  — " 

"  Hush  1 " 

"  I  shall  go  mad  if  I  cannot  talk  with  you  about  — " 

"  No,  no!  It  is  the  forbidden  subject!  I  know  all 
that  I  should  know  —  all  that  I  care  to  know.  We 
have  not  said  so  much  as  this  in  months  —  in  ages,  it 
seems.  Let  sleeping  dogs  lie.  We  are  better  off,  my 
dear.  I  could  not  touch  your  lips  again." 

"I  —  I  can't  bear  the  thought  of  that !  " 

"  Kiss  me  now,  Hetty." 

"  I  could  die  for  you,  Sara,"  cried  Hetty,  as  she 
impulsively  obeyed  the  command. 

"  I  mean  that  you  shall  live  for  me,"  said  Sara,  smil 
ing  through  her  tears.  "  How  silly  of  me  to  cry.  It 
must  be  the  room  we  are  in.  These  are  the  same 
rooms,  dear,  that  you  came  to  on  the  night  we  met. 
Ah,  how  old  I  feel!" 

"Old?  You  say  that  to  me?  I  am  ages  and  ages 
older  than  you,"  cried  Hetty,  the  colour  coming  back 
to  her  soft  cheeks. 

"  You  are  twenty-three." 

"  And  you  are  twenty-eight." 

Sara  had  a  far  away  look  in  her  eyes.  "  About  your 
size  and  figure,"  said  she,  and  Hetty  did  not  compre 
hend. 


CHAPTER  VI 

SOUTHLOOK 

SARA  WRANDALL-'S  house  in  the  country  stood  on  a 
wooded  knoll  overlooking  the  Sound.  It  was  rather  re 
motely  located,  so  far  as  neighbours  were  concerned. 
Her  father,  Sebastian  Gooch,  shrewdly  foresaw  the  day 
when  land  in  this  particular  section  of  the  suburban 
world  would  return  dollars  for  the  pennies,  and  wisely 
bought  thousands  of  acres:  woodland,  meadowland, 
beachland  and  hills,  inserted  between  the  environs  of 
New  York  City  and  the  rich  towns  up  the  coast.  Years 
afterward  he  built  a  commodious  summer  home  on  the 
choicest  point  that  his  property  afforded,  named  it 
Southlook,  and  transformed  that  particular  part  of 
his  wilderness  into  a  millionaire's  paradise,  where  he 
could  dawdle  and  putter  to  his  heart's  content,  where 
he  could  spend  his  time  and  his  money  with  a  prodigal 
ity  that  came  so  late  in  life  to  him  that  he  made  waste 
of  both  in  his  haste  to  live  down  a  rather  parsimonious 
past. 

Two  miles  and  a  half  away,  in  the  heart  of  a  scat 
tered  colony  of  purse-proud  New  Yorkers,  was  the 
country  home  of  the  Wrandalls,  an  imposing  place  and 
older  by  far  than  Southlook.  It  had  descended  from 
well-worn  and  time-stained  ancestors  to  Redmond 
Wrandall,  and,  with  others  of  its  kind,  looked  with  no 
little  scorn  upon  the  modern,  mushroom  structures  that 
sprouted  from  the  seeds  of  trade.  There  was  no  friend 
ship  between  the  old  and  the  new.  Each  had  recourse  to 
a  bitter  contempt  for  the  other,  though  consolation  was 
small  in  comparison. 

102 


SOUTHLOOK  103 

It  was  in  the  wooded  by-ways  of  this  despised  do 
main  that  Challis  Wrandall  and  Sara,  the  earthly 
daughter  of  Midas,  met  and  loved  and  defied  all  things 
supernal,  for  matches  are  made  in  heaven.  Their  mar 
riage  did  not  open  the  gates  of  Nineveh.  Sebastian 
Gooch's  paradise  was  more  completely  ostracised  than 
it  was  before  the  disaster.  The  Wrandalls  spoke  of  it 
as  a  disaster. 

Clearly  the  old  merchant  was  not  over-pleased  with 
his  daughter's  choice,  a  conclusion  permanently  estab 
lished  by  the  alteration  he  made  in  his  will  a  year  or 
two  after  the  marriage.  True,  he  left  the  vast  estate 
to  his  beloved  daughter  Sara,  but  he  fastened  a  stout 
string  to  it,  and  with  this  string  her  hands  were  tied. 
It  must  have  occurred  to  him  that  Challis  was  a  prof 
ligate  in  more  ways  than  one,  for  he  deliberately  stip 
ulated  in  his  will  that  Sara  was  not  to  sell  a  foot  of 
the  ground  until  a  period  of  twenty  years  had  elapsed. 
A  very  polite  way,  it  would  seem,  of  making  his  invest 
ment  safe  in  the  face  of  considerable  odds. 

He  lived  long  enough  after  the  making  of  his  will,  I 
am  happy  to  relate,  to  find  that  he  had  made  no  mistake. 
•As  he  preceded  his  son-in-law  into  the  Great  Beyond  by 
a  scant  three  years,  it  readily  may  be  seen  that  he 
wrought  too  well  by  far.  Seventeen  unnecessary  years 
of  proscription  remained,  and  he  had  not  intended  them 
for  Sara  alone.  He  was  not  afraid  of  Sara,  but  for 
her. 

When  the  will  was  read  and  the  condition  revealed, 
Challis  Wrandall  took  it  in  perfect  good  humour.  He 
had  the  grace  to  proclaim  in  the  bosom  of  his  father's 
family  that  the  old  gentleman  was  a  father-in-law  to 
be  proud  of.  "  A  canny  old  boy,"  he  had  announced 
with  his  most  engaging  smile,  quite  free  from  rancour 


104          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

or  resentment.  Challis  was  well  acquainted  with  him 
self. 

And  so  the  acres  were  strapped  together  snugly  and 
iirmly,  without  so  much  as  a  town-lot  protruding. 

So  impressed  was  Challis  by  the  farsightedness  of 
his  father-in-law  that  he  forthwith  sat  him  down  and 
made  a  will  of  his  own.  He  would  not  have  it  said  that 
Sara's  father  did  a  whit  better  by  her  than  he  would 
do.  He  left  everything  he  possessed  to  his  wife,  but 
put  no  string  to  it,  blandly  implying  that  all  danger 
would  be  past  when  she  came  into  possession.  There 
was  a  sort  of  grim  humour  in  the  way  he  managed  to 
present  himself  to  view  as  the  real  and  ready  source  of 
peril. 

Among  certain  of  the  Wrandall  clan  there  was  seri 
ous  talk  of  contesting  the  will.  It  was  a  distinct 
shock  to  all  of  them.  Some  one  made  bold  to  as 
sert  that  Challis  was  not  in  his  right  mind  at  the  time 
it  was  executed.  For  that  matter,  a  couple  of  uncles 
on  his  mother's  side  were  of  the  broad  opinion  that  he 
never  had  been  mentally  adequate. 

During  a  family  conference  four  days  after  the  fu 
neral,  Leslie  launched  forth  at  some  length  and  with  con 
siderable  heat,  expressing  an  opinion  that  met  with 
small  favour  at  the  outset  but  which  had  its  results 
later  on. 

"  Why,"  he  declaimed,  standing  before  the  fireplace 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  "  if  Sara  dreamed  that 
we  even  so  much  as  contemplate  making  a  fuss  about 
Chal's  will,  she'd  up  and  chuck  the  whole  blooming 
legacy  in  our  faces,  and  be  glad  to  do  it.  She's  got 
plenty  of  her  own.  She  doesn't  need  the  little  that 
Challis  left  her.  Then,  what  would  we  look  like,  tell 
me  that?  What  would  the  world  say?  Why,  it  would 


SOUTHLOOK  105 

say  that  she  didn't  think  our  money  was  clean  enough 
to  mix  with  old  man  Gooch's.  She'd  throw  it  in  our 
faces  and  the  whole  town  would  snicker." 

"  Figuratively  speaking,  young  man,  figuratively 
speaking,"  said  one  of  the  uncles,  a  stockholder  and 
director. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 

"  That  she  — ahem !  That  she  couldn't  actually 
throw  it." 

"  I'm  not  so  literal  as  you,  Uncle  George." 

"  Then  why  use  the  word  throw?  " 

"  Of  course,  Uncle  George,  I  don't  mean  to  say  she'd 
have  it  reduced  to  gold  coin  and  stand  off  and  take 
shots  at  us.  You  understand  that,  don't  you?  " 

"  Leslie,"  put  in  his  father,  "  you  have  a  most  dis 
tressing  way  of  —  er  —  putting  it.  Your  Uncle 
George  is  not  so  dense  as  all  that." 

"  I  didn't  use  the  word  *  throw  '  in  the  first  place," 
said  Leslie,  with  a  shrug.  "  I  said  '  chuck.'  " 

"  I  distinctly  heard  you  use  the  word  '  throw,'  "  said 
Uncle  George,  very  red  in  the  face. 

"  It  was  on  the  second  occasion,  George,"  said  Mrs. 
Wrandall,  loyal  to  Leslie. 

"  In  either  case,"  said  her  son,  "  we'd  be  made  ridic 
ulous.  That's  the  long  and  short  of  it.  Even  if  she 
handed  it  to  us  on  a  silver  plate, —  figuratively  speak 
ing,  Uncle  George, —  we'd  be  made  to  look  like  thirty 
cents." 

"  Well,  I'm  damn  — "  began  Uncle  George,  almost 
forgetting  where  he  was,  but  remembering  in  time.  He 
was  afraid  to  utter  a  word  for  the  next  ten  minutes,  and 
Leslie  was  spared  the  interruptions. 

It  was  decided  that  the  will  should  stand.  Later 
on,  the  alarming  prospect  of  Sara's  perfect  right  to 


106          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

marry  again  came  up  to  mar  the  peace  of  mind  of  all 
the  Wrandalls,  and  it  grew  to  be  horribly  real  without 
a  single  move  on  her  part  to  warrant  the  fears  they 
were  encouraging. 

Sara  and  Hetty  did  not  stay  long  in  town.  The 
newspapers  announced  the  return  of  Challis  Wrandall's 
widow  and  reporters  sought  her  out  for  interviews. 
The  old  interest  was  revived  and  columns  were  printed 
about  the  murder  at  Burton's  Inn,  with  sharp  editorial 
comments  on  the  failure  of  the  police  to  clear  up  the 
mystery. 

The  woods  were  green  and  the  earth  was  redolent  of 
rich  spring  odours ;  wild  flowers  peeped  shyly  from  the 
leaf-strewn  soil  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees ;  some,  more 
bold  than  others,  came  down  to  the  roadway,  and  from 
the  banks  and  hedges  smiled  saucily  upon  all  who 
passed;  the  hillsides  were  like  spotless  carpets,  the 
meadows  a  riot  of  clover  hues.  The  world  was  light 
with  the  life  of  the  new-born  year,  for  who  shall  say 
that  the  year  does  not  begin  with  the  birth  of  spring? 
May!  May,  when  the  earth  begins  to  bear,  not  Jan 
uary  when  it  sets  out  in  sorrow  to  bury  its  dead.  New 
Year's  day  it  is,  when  the  first  tiny  flower  of  spring 
comes  to  life  and  smiles  on  the  face  of  Mother  Earth, 
and  the  sun  is  warm  with  the  love  of  a  gentle  father. 

"  I  shall  ask  Leslie  down  for  the  week-end,"  said 
Sara,  the  third  day  after  their  arrival  in  the  country. 
The  house  was  huge  and  lonely,  and  time  hung  rather 
heavily  despite  the  glorious  uplift  of  spring. 

Hetty  looked  up  quickly  from  her  book.  A  look 
of  dismay  flickered  in  her  eyes  for  an  instant  and 
then  gave  way  to  the  calmness  that  had  come  to  dwell 
in  their  depths  of  late.  Her  lips  parted  in  the  sudden 
impulse  to  cry  out  against  the  plan,  but  she  checked 


SOUTHLOOK  107 

the  words.  For  a  moment,  her  dark,  questioning  eyes 
studied  the  face  of  her  benefactress ;  then,  as  if  nothing 
had  been  revealed  to  her,  she  allowed  her  gaze  to  drift 
pensively  out  toward  the  sunset  sea. 

They  were  sitting  on  the  broad  verandah  overlook 
ing  the  Sound.  The  dusk  of  evening  was  beginning 
to  steal  over  the  earth.  She  laid  her  book  aside. 

"  Will  you  telephone  in  to  him  after  dinner,  Hetty?  " 
went  on  Sara,  after  a  long  period  of  silence. 

Again  Hetty  started.  This  time  a  look  of  actual 
pain  flashed  in  her  eyes. 

"  Would  not  a  note  by  post  be  more  certain  to  find 
him  in  the  — "  she  began  hurriedly. 

"  I  dislike  writing  notes,"  said  Sara  calmly.  "  Of 
course,  dear,  if  you  feel  that  you'd  rather  not  tele 
phone  to  him,  I  can  — " 

"  I  dare  say  I  am  finicky,  Sara,"  apologised  Hetty  in 
quick  contrition.  "  Of  course,  he  is  your  brother.  I 
should  remem  — " 

"  My  brother-in-law,  dear,"  said  Sara,  a  trifle  too 
literally. 

"  He  will  come  often  to  your  house,"  went  on  Hetty 
rapidly.  "  I  must  make  the  best  of  it." 

"  He   is   your   friend,   Hetty.     He  admires  you." 

"  I  cannot  see  him  through  your  eyes,  Sara." 

"  But  he  is  charming  and  agreeable,  you'll  admit," 
persisted  the  other. 

"  He  is  very  kind,  and  he  is  devoted  to  you.  I 
should  like  him  for  that." 

"  You  have  no  cause  for  disliking  him." 

"  I  do  not  dislike  him.  I  —  I  am — .Oh,  you  always 
have  been  so  thoughtful,  so  considerate,  Sara,  I  can't 
understand  your  failing  to  see  how  hard  it  is  for  me  to 
—  to  —  well,  to  endure  his  open-hearted  friendship." 


108          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

Sara  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "  You  draw  a  pretty 
fine  line,  Hetty,"  she  said  gently. 

Hetty  flushed.  "  You  mean  that  there  is  little  to 
choose  between  wife  and  brother?  That  isn't  quite 
fair.  You  know  everything,  he  knows  nothing.  I  wear 
a  mask  for  him;  you  have  seen  into  the  very  heart  of 
me.  It  isn't  the  same." 

Sara  came  over  and  stood  beside  the  girl's  chair. 
After  a  moment  of  indecision,  she  laid  her  hand  on 
Hetty's  shoulder.  The  girl  looked  up,  the  ever-recur 
ring  question  in  her  eyes. 

"  We  haven't  spoken  of  —  of  these  things  in  many 
months,  Hetty." 

"  Not  since  Mrs.  Wrandall  and  Vivian  came  to  Nice. 
I  was  upset  —  dreadfuly  upset  then,  Sara.  I  don't 
know  how  I  managed  to  get  through  with  it." 

"  But  you  managed  it,"  pronounced  Sara.  Her  fin 
gers  seemed  to  tighten  suddenly  on  the  girl's  shoulder. 
"  I  think  we  were  quite  wonderful,  both  of  us.  It 
wasn't  easy  for  me." 

"Why  did  we  come  back  to  New  York,  Sara?" 
burst  out  Hetty,  clasping  her  friend's  hand  as  if  sud 
denly  spurred  by  terror.  "  We  were  happy  over  there. 
And  free!" 

"  Listen,  my  dear,"  said  Sara,  a  hard  note  growing 
in  her  voice :  "  this  is  my  home.  I  do  not  love  it,  but 
I  can  see  no  reason  for  abandoning  it.  That  is  why 
we  came  back  to  New  York." 

Hetty  pressed  her  friend's  hand  to  her  lips.  "  For 
give  me,"  she  cried  impulsively.  "  I  shouldn't  have 
complained.  It  was  detestable." 

"  Besides,"  went  on  Sara  evenly,  "  you  were  quite 
free  to  remain  on  the  other  side.  I  left  it  to  you." 

"  You  gave  me  a  week  to  decide,"  said  Hetty,  in  a 


SOUTHLOOK  109 

hurried  manner  of  speaking.  "I  —  I  took  but  twenty- 
four  hours  —  less  than  that.  Over  night,  you  remem 
ber.  I  love  you,  Sara.  I  could  not  leave  you.  All 
that  night  I  could  feel  you  pulling  at  my  heart-strings, 
pulling  me  closer  and  closer,  and  holding  me.  You  were 
in  your  room,  I  in  mine,  and  yet  all  the  time  you 
seemed  to  be  bending  over  me  in  the  darkness,  urging 
me  to  stay  with  you  and  love  you  and  be  loved  by  you. 
It  couldn't  have  been  a  dream." 

"  It  was  not  a  dream,"  said  Sara,  with  a  queer 
smile. 

"  You  do  love  me  ?  "  tensely. 

"  I  do  love  you,"  was  the  firm  answer.  Sara  was 
staring  out  across  the  water,  her  eyes  big  and  as  black 
as  night  itself.  She  seemed  to  be  looking  far  beyond 
the  misty  lights  that  bobbled  with  nearby  schooners, 
far  beyond  the  yellow  mass  on  the  opposite  shore  where 
a  town  lay  cradled  in  the  shadows,  far  into  the  fast 
darkening  sky  that  came  up  like  a  wall  out  of  the  east. 

Hetty's  fingers  tightened  in  a  warmer  clasp.  Un 
consciously  perhaps,  Sara's  grip  on  the  girl's  shoulder 
tightened  also:  unconsciously,  for  her  thoughts  were 
far  away.  The  younger  woman's  pensive  gaze  rested 
on  the  peaceful  waters  below,  taking  in  the  slow  ap 
proach  of  the  fog  that  was  soon  to  envelop  the  land. 
Neither  spoke  for  many  minutes:  inscrutable  thinkers, 
each  a  prey  to  thoughts  that  leaped  backward  to  the 
beginning  and  took  up  the  puzzle  at  its  inception. 

"  I  wonder  — "  began  Hetty,  her  eyes  narrowing  with 
the  intensity  of  thought.  She  did  not  complete  the 
sentence. 

Sara  answered  the  unspoken  question.  "  It  will 
never  be  different  from  what  it  is  now,  unless  you  make 
it  so." 


110          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

Hetty  started.  "  How  could  you  have  known  what 
I  was  thinking?  "  she  cried  in  wonder. 

"  It  is  what  you  are  always  thinking,  my  dear. 
You  are  always  asking  yourself  when  will  I  turn 
against  you." 

"Sara!" 

"  Your  own  intelligence  should  supply  the  answer  to 
all  the  questions  you  are  asking  of  yourself.  It  is 
too  late  for  me  to  turn  against  you."  She  abruptly 
removed  her  hand  from  Hetty's  shoulder  and  walked 
to  the  edge  of  the  verandah.  For  the  first  time,  the 
English  girl  was  conscious  of  pain.  She  drew  her 
-arm  up  and  cringed.  She  pulled  the  light  scarf  about 
her  bare  shoulders. 

The  butler  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"  The  telephone,  if  you  please,  Miss  Castleton.  Mr. 
Leslie  Wrandall  is  calling." 

The  girl  stared.     "  For  me,  Watson  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss.  I  forgot  to  say  that  he  called  up  this 
afternoon  while  you  were  out,"  very  apologetically, 
with  a  furtive  glance  at  Mrs.  Wrandall,  who  had  turned. 

"  Loss  of  memory,  Watson,  is  a  fatal  affliction," 
she  said,  with  a  smile. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Wrandall.     I  don't  see  'ow  it  'appened." 

"  It  is  not  likely  to  happen  again." 

"  No,  madam." 

Hetty  had  risen,  visibly  agitated. 

"  What  shall  I  say  to  him,  Sara?  "  she  cried. 

"  Apparently  it  is  he  who  has  something  to  say  to 
you,"  said  the  other,  still  smiling.  "  Wait  and  see  what 
it  is.  Please  don't  neglect  to  say  that  we'd  like  to 
have  him  over  Sunday." 

"A  box  of  flowers  has  just  come  up  from  the  sta 
tion  for  you,  Miss,"  said  Watson. 


SOUTHLOOK  111 

Hetty  was  very  white  as  she  passed  into  the  house. 
Mrs.  Wrandall  resumed  her  contemplation  of  the  fog- 
screened  Sound. 

"  Shall  I  fetch  you  a  wrap,  ma'am  ?  "  asked  Watson, 
hesitating. 

"  I  am  coming  in,  Watson.  Open  the  box  of  flowers 
for  Miss  Castleton.  Is  there  a  fire  in  the  library?  " 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Wrandall." 

"  Mr.  Leslie  will  be  out  on  Saturday.  Tell  Mrs. 
Conkling." 

"  The  evening  train,  ma'am?  " 

"  No.  The  eleven-thirty.  He  will  be  here  for  lunch 
eon." 

When  Hetty  hurried  into  the  library  a  few  minutes 
later,  her  manner  was  that  of  one  considerably  dis 
turbed  by  something  that  has  transpired  almost  on 
the  moment.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed  and  her  eyes 
were  reflectors  of  a  no  uncertain  distress  of  mind.  Mrs. 
Wrandall  was  standing  before  the  fireplace,  an  exquisite 
figure  in  the  slinky  black  evening  gown  which  she  af 
fected  in  these  days.  Her  perfectly  modelled  neck  and 
shoulders  gleamed  like  pink  marble  in  the  reflected  glow 
of  the  burning  logs.  She  wore  no  jewellery,  but  there 
was  a  single  white  rose  in  her  dark  hair,  where  it  had 
been  placed  by  the  whimsical  Hetty  an  hour  earlier  as 
they  left  the  dinner  table. 

"  He  is  coming  out  on  the  eleven-thirty,  Sara,"  said 
the  girl  nervously,  "  unless  you  will  send  the  motor  in 
for  him.  The  body  of  his  car  is  being  changed  and 
it's  in  the  shop.  He  must  have  been  jesting  when  he 
said  he  would  pay  for  the  petrol  —  I  should  have  said 
gasoline." 

Sara  laughed.  "  You  will  know  him  better,  my 
dear,"  she  said.  "  Leslie  is  very  light-hearted." 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  He  suggested  bringing  a  friend,"  went  on  Hetty 
hurriedly.  "  A  Mr.  Booth,  the  portrait  painter." 

"  I  met  him  in  Italy.  He  is  charming.  You  will 
like  him,  too,  Hetty."  The  emphasis  did  not  escape 
notice. 

"  It  seems  that  he  is  spending  a  fortnight  in  the  vil 
lage,  this  Mr.  Booth,  painting  spring  lambs  for  rest 
and  recreation,  Mr.  Leslie  says." 

"  Then  he  is  at  our  very  gates,"  said  Sara,  looking 
up  suddenly. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  can  be  the  man  I  saw  yesterday  at 
the  bridge,"  mused  Hetty.  "  Is  he  tall?  " 

"  I  really  can't  say.  He's  rather  vague.  It  was 
six  or  seven  years  ago." 

"  It  was  left  that  Mr.  Wrandall  is  to  come  out  on  the 
eleven-thirty,"  explained  Hetty.  "  I  thought  you 
wouldn't  like  sending  either  of  the  motors  in." 

"And  Mr.  Booth?" 

"  We  are  to  send  for  him  after  Mr.  Wrandall  arrives. 
He  is  stopping  at  the  inn,  wherever  that  may  be." 

"  Poor  fellow ! "  sighed  Sara,  with  a  grimace.  "  I 
am  sure  he  will  like  us  immensely  if  he  has  been  stopping 
at  the  inn." 

Hetty  stood  staring  down  at  the  blazing  logs  for  a 
full  minute  before  giving  expression  to  the  thought  that 
troubled  her. 

"  Sara,"  she  said,  meeting  her  friend's  eyes  with  a 
steady  light  in  her  own,  "  why  did  Mr.  Wrandall  ask 
for  me  instead  of  you?  It  is  you  he  is  coming  to  visit, 
not  me.  It  is  your  house.  Why  should — " 

"  My  dear,"  said  Sara  glibly,  "  I  am  merely  his  sis 
ter-in-law.  It  wouldn't  be  necessary  to  ask  me  if  he 
should  come.  He  knows  he  is  welcome." 

"  Then  why  should  he  feel  called  upon  to  — " 


SOUTHLOOK  113 

"  Some  men  like  to  telephone,  I  suppose,"  said  the 
other  coolly. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  will  ever  understand  how  I  feel 
about  —  about  certain  things,  Sara." 

"What,   for  instance?" 

"  Well,  his  very  evident  interest  in  me,"  cried  the 
girl  hotly.  "  He  sends  me  flowers, —  this  is  the  sec 
ond  box  this  week, —  and  he  is  so  kind,  so  very  friendly, 
Sara,  that  I  can't  bear  it  —  I  really  can't." 

Mrs.  Wrandall  stared  at  her.  "  You  can't  very 
well  send  him  about  his  business,"  she  said,  "  unless 
he  becomes  more  than  friendly.  Now,  can  you?  " 

"  But  it  seems  so  —  so  horrible,  so  beastly,"  groaned 
the  girl. 

Sara  faced  her  squarely.  "  See  here,  Hetty,"  she 
said  levelly,  "  we  have  made  our  bed,  you  and  I.  We 
must  lie  in  it  —  together.  If  Leslie  Wrandall  chooses 
to  fall  in  love  with  you,  that  is  his  affair,  not  ours. 
We  must  face  every  condition.  In  plain  words,  we 
must  play  the  game." 

"What  could  be  more  appalling  than  to  have  him 
fall  in  love  with  me?  " 

"  The  other  way  'round  would  be  more  dramatic,  I 
should  say." 

"  Good  God,  Sara !  "  cried  the  girl  in  horror.  "  How 
can  you  even  speak  of  such  a  thing?  " 

"  After  all,  why  shouldn't  — "  began  Sara,  but 
stopped  in  the  middle  of  her  suggestion,  with  the  result 
that  it  had  its  full  effect  without  being  uttered  in  so 
many  cold-blooded  words.  The  girl  shuddered. 

"  I  wish,  Sara,  you  would  let  me  unburden  myself 
completely  to  you,"  she  pleaded,  seizing  her  friend's 
hands.  "  You  have  forbidden  me  — •" 

Sara   jerked   her   hands    away.     Her   eyes   flashed. 


114          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"*'  I  do  not  want  to  hear  it,"  she  cried  fiercely.  "  Never, 
never!  Do  you  understand?  It  is  your  secret.  I  will 
not  share  it  with  you.  I  should  hate  you  if  I  knew 
-everything.  As  it  is,  I  love  you  because  you  are  a 
woman  who  suffered  at  the  hand  of  one  who  made  me 
suffer.  There  is  nothing  more  to  say.  Don't  bring  up 
the  subject  again.  I  want  to  be  your  friend  for  ever, 
not  your  confidante.  There  is  a  distinction.  You  may 
be  able  to  see  how  very  marked  it  is  in  our  case,  Hetty. 
What  one  does  not  know,  seldom  hurts." 

"  But  I  want  to  justify  myself — " 

**  It  isn't  necessary,"  cut  in  the  other  so  perempto 
rily  that  the  girl's  eyes  spread  into  a  look  of  anger. 
Whereupon  Sara  Wrandall  threw  her  arm  about  her 
and  drew  her  down  beside  her  on  the  chaise-longue.  "  I 
didn't  mean  to  be  harsh,"  she  cried.  "  We  must  not 
speak  of  the  past,  that's  all.  The  future  is  not  likely 
to  hurt  us,  dear.  Let  us  avoid  the  past." 

"  The  future !  "  sighed  the  girl,  staring  blankly  before 
her. 

"  To  appreciate  what  it  is  to  be,"  said  the  other, 
""  you  have  but  to  think  of  what  it  might  have  been." 

"  I  know,"  said  Hetty,  in  a  low  voice.  "  And  yet 
I.  sometimes  wonder  if — " 

Sara  interrupted.  "  You  are  paying  me,  dear,  in 
stead  of  the  law,"  she  said  gently.  "  I  am  not  a  harsh 
creditor,  am  I?  " 

"  My  life  belongs  to  you.  I  give  it  cheerfully,  even 
gladly." 

"  So  you  have  said  before.  Well,  if  it  belongs  to  me, 
you  might  at  least  permit  me  to  develop  it  as  I  would 
any  other  possession.  I  take  it  as  an  investment.  It 
probably  fluctuate." 

"  Now  you  are  jesting!  " 


SOUTHLOOK  115- 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Sara  laconically. 

The  next  morning  Hetty  set  forth  for  her  accustomed' 
tramp  over  the  roads  that  wound  through  the  estate. 
Sara,  the  American,  dawdled  at  home,  resenting  the  chill: 
spring  drizzle  that  did  not  in  the  least  discourage  the 
Englishwoman.  The  mistress  of  the  house  and  of  the 
girl's  destiny  stood  in  the  broad  French  window  watch 
ing  her  as  she  strode  springily,  healthily  down  the  maple 
lined  avenue  in  the  direction  of  the  gates.  The  garden 
ers  doffed  their  caps  to  her  as  she  passed,  and  also, 
looked  after  her  with  surreptitious  glances. 

There  was  a  queer  smile  on  Sara's  lips  that  remained 
long  after  the  girl  was  lost  to  view  beyond  the  lodge. 
It  was  still  on  her  lips  but  gone  from  her  eyes  as  she 
paused  beside  the  old  English  table  to  bury  her  nose 
in  one  of  the  gorgeous  roses  that  Leslie  had  sent  out 
to  Hetty  the  day  before.  They  were  all  about  the- 
room,  dozens  of  them.  The  girl  had  insisted  on  having- 
them  downstairs  instead  of  in  her  own  little  sitting- 
room,  for  which  they  plainly  were  intended. 

A  nasty  sea  turn  had  brought  lowering  grey  skies, 
and  a  dreary,  enveloping  mist  that  never  quite  assumed 
the  dignity  of  a  drizzle  and  yet  blew  wet  and  cold  to 
the  very  marrow  of  the  bones.  Hetty  was  used  to  such 
weather.  Her  English  blood  warmed  to  it.  As  she 
strode  briskly  across  the  meadow-land  road  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  woods  that  lay  ahead,  a  soft  ruddy  glow- 
crept  up  to  her  cheeks,  and  a  sparkle  of  joy  into  her 
eyes.  She  walked  strongly,  rapidly.  Her  straight,, 
lithe  young  figure  was  a  joyous  thing  to  behold.  High 
boots,  short  skirt,  a  loose  jacket  and  a  broad  felt  hat 
made  up  her  costume.  She  was  graceful,  adorable; 
a  young,  healthy,  beautiful  creature  in  whom  the  blood 
surged  quickly,  strongly:  the  type  of  woman  men  are- 


116          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

wont  to  classify  as  "  ineffably  feminine,"  though  why 
we  should  differentiate  is  no  small  mystery  unless  there 
really  is  such  a  thing  as  one  woman  possessing  an 
adorably  feminine  quality  denied  to  her  sisters.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  there  is  a  distinction  and  men  pride 
themselves  on  knowing  it.  Hetty  was  alluringly  fem 
inine.  Leaving  out  the  matter  of  morals,  whatever  they 
are,  and  coming  right  up  to  her  as  an  example  of  her 
sex,  pure  and  simple  if  you  please,  we  are  bound  to 
say  that  she  was  perfect.  The  best  thing  we  can  say  of 
Challis  Wrandall  is  that  he  took  the  same  view  of  her 
that  we  should,  and  fell  in  love  with  her.  He  would 
have  married  her  if  he  could,  there  isn't  much  doubt  as 
to  that,  no  matter  what  she  had  been  before  he  knew 
her  or  what  she  was  at  the  time  of  his  discovery.  No 
more  is  it  to  be  considered  unique  that  his  brother  should 
have  experienced  a  similar  interest  in  her,  knowing  even 
less. 

She  was  the  sort  of  girl  one  falls  in  love  with  and 
remembers  it  the  rest  of  his  life. 

Take  her  now,  for  instance,  as  she  swings  along  the 
highway,  fresh,  trim  and  graceful,  her  chin  uptilted, 
her  cheeks  warm,  her  eyes  clear  and  as  blue  as  sapphires, 
and  we  experience  the  most  intense,  unreasoning  desire 
to  be  near  her,  at  her  side,  where  hands  could  touch 
her  and  the  very  spell  of  her  creep  out  over  one  to  make 
a  man  of  him. 

The  kind  of  woman  one  wants  to  draw  close  to  him 
because  his  heart  is  sweet. 

She  had  the  blood  of  a  fellow  creature  on  her  hands 
—  the  blood  of  one  of  us  —  and  yet  we  men  will  over 
look  one  commandment  for  another.  It  is  a  matter  of 
choice. 

What  of  her  present  position  in  the  house  and  in  the 


SOUTHLOOK  117 

heart  of  the  one  woman  who  of  all  those  we  know  is 
abnormally  unfeminine  in  that  she  subordinates  the  nat 
ural  and  instinctive  animosity  of  woman  toward  an 
other  who  robs  her  of  a  husband,  no  matter  how  un 
worthy  or  how  hateful  he  may  have  been  to  her  behind 
the  screen  with  which  she  hides  her  sores  from  the 
world.  The  answer  is  ready :  Hetty  was  a  slave  bound 
to  an  extraordinary  condition.  There  had  been  no 
coercion  on  the  part  of  Challis  Wrandall's  wife ;  no  ac 
tual  restraint  had  been  set  upon  the  girl.  The  situa 
tion  was  a  plain  one  from  every  point  of  view:  Hetty 
owed  her  life  to  Sara,  she  would  have  paid  with  her 
life's  blood  the  debt  she  owed.  It  had  become  per 
fectly  natural  for  her  to  consider  herself  a  willing, 
grateful  prisoner  — •  a  prisoner  on  parole.  She  would 
not,  could  not  abuse  the  parole.  She  loved  her  gaoler 
with  a  love  that  knew  no  bounds ;  she  loved  the  walls 
Sara  had  thrown  up  about  her ;  she  was  content  to  live 
and  die  in  the  luxurious  cell,  attended  by  love  and  kind 
ness  and  mercy.  After  all,  Hetty  was  even  more  fem 
inine  than  we  seem  able  to  convey  in  words. 

Not  in  that  she  lacked  in  pride  or  sensitiveness,  but 
that  she  possessed  to  a  self-satisfying  degree  the  ability 
to  subordinate  both  of  these  to  a  loyalty  that  had  no 
bounds.  There  were  fine  feelings  in  Hetty.  She  was 
honest  with  herself.  She  did  not  look  beyond  her  pres 
ent  horizon  for  brighter  skies.  They  were  as  bright 
as  they  could  ever  be,  of  that  she  was  sure ;  her  hopes 
lay  within  the  small  circumference  that  Sara  Wrandall 
made  possible  for  her.  She  knew  that  her  peril,  her 
ruin  lay  in  the  desire  to  step  outside  that  narrow  circle, 
for  out  there  the  world  was  cold  and  merciless. 

She  lived  as  one  charmed  by  some  powerful  influence, 
and  was  content.  Not  once  had  the  fear  entered  her 


118 

soul  that  Sara  would  turn  against  her.  Her  trust  in 
Wrandall's  wife  was  infinite.  In  her  simple,  devoted 
heart  she  could  feel  no  prick  of  dread  so  far  as  the 
present  was  concerned.  The  past  was  dreadful,  but 
it  was  the  past,  and  its  loathsomeness  was  moderated 
by  subtle  contrast  with  the  present.  As  for  the  future, 
it  belonged  to  Sara  Wrandall.  It  was  safe. 

If  Sara  were  to  decide  that  she  must  be  given  up  to 
the  law,  all  well  and  good.  She  could  meet  her  fate 
with  a  smile  for  Sara,  and  with  love  in  her  heart.  She 
could  pay  in  full  if  the  demand  was  made  by  the  wife 
of  the  man  she  had  left  in  the  grim  little  upstairs  room 
at  Burton's  Inn  on  that  never-to-be-forgotten  night  in 
March. 

The  one  great,  inexplicable  mystery  to  her  was  the 
heart  of  Sara  Wrandall.  She  could  not  fathom  it. 

She  could  understand  her  own  utter  subjection  to 
the  will  of  the  other  woman ;  she  could  explain  it  satis 
factorily  to  herself,  and  she  could  have  explained  it  to 
the  world.  Self-preservation  in  the  beginning,  self-sur 
render  as  time  went  on,  self-sacrifice  as  the  preroga 
tive. 

And  so  it  was,  on  this  grey  spring  day,  that  she 
gazed  undaunted  at  the  world,  with  the  shadows  all 
about  her,  and  hummed  a  sprightly  tune  through  warm 
red  lips  that  were  kissed  by  the  morning  mist. 

She  came  to  the  bridge  by  the  mill,  long  since  deserted 
and  now  a  thing  of  ruin  and  decay.  A  man  in  knick 
erbockers  stood  leaning  against  the  rail,  idly  gazing 
down  at  the  trickling  stream  below.  The  brier  pipe 
that  formed  the  circuit  between  hand  and  lips  sent  up 
soft  blue  coils  to  float  away  on  the  drizzle. 

She  passed  behind  him,  with  a  single  furtive,  curious 
glance  at  his  handsome,  undisturbed  profile,  and  in  that 


SOUTHLOOK  119 

glance  recognised  him  as  the  man  she  had  seen  the  day 
before. 

When  she  was  a  dozen  rods  away,  the  tall  man  turned 
his  face  from  the  stream  and  sent  after  her  the  long- 
restrained  look.  There  was  something  akin  to  cau 
tiousness  in  that  look  of  his,  as  if  he  were  afraid  that 
she  might  turn  her  head  suddenly  and  catch  him  at  it. 
Something  began  stirring  in  his  heart,  the  nameless 
something  that  awakens  when  least  expected.  He  felt 
the  subtle,  sweet  femininity  of  her  as  she  passed.  It 
lingered  with  him  as  he  looked. 

She  turned  the  bend  in  the  road  a  hundred  yards 
away.  For  many  minutes  he  studied  the  stream  below 
without  really  seeing  it.  Then  he  straightened  up, 
knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe,  and  set  off  slowly  in 
her  wake,  although  he  had  been  walking  in  quite  the 
opposite  direction  when  he  came  to  the  bridge, —  and 
on  a  mission  of  some  consequence,  too. 

There  was  the  chance  that  he  would  meet  her  coming 
back. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  FAITHFUL,  CRAYON-POINT 

LESLIE  WRANDAL.L,  came  out  on  the  eleven-thirty. 
Hetty  was  at  the  station  with  the  motor,  a  sullen  resent 
ment  in  her  heart,  but  a  welcoming  smile  on  her  lips. 
The  sun  shone  brightly.  The  Sound  glared  with  the 
•white  of  reflected  skies. 

"  I  thought  of  catching  the  eight  o'clock,"  he  cried 
enthusiastically,  as  he  dropped  his  bag  beside  the  motor 
in  order  to  reach  over  and  shake  hands  with  her. 
<l  That  would  have  gotten  me  here  hours  earlier.  The 
difficulty  was  that  I  didn't  think  of  the  eight  o'clock 
until  I  awoke  at  nine." 

"  And  then  you  had  the  additional  task  of  thinking 
about  breakfast,"  said  Hetty,  but  without  a  trace  of 
sarcasm  in  her  manner. 

"  I  never  think  of  breakfast,"  said  he  amiably.  "  I 
merely  eat  it.  Of  course,  it's  a  task  to  eat  it  sometimes, 
but  —  well,  how  are  you  ?  How  do  you  like  it  out 
here?  " 

He  was  beside  her  on  the  broad  seat,  his  face  beam 
ing,  his  gay  little  moustache  pointing  upward  at  the 
ends  like  oblique  brown  exclamation  points,  so  expansive 
was  his  smile. 

"  I  adore  it,"  she  replied,  her  own  smile  growing  in 
response  to  his.  It  was  impossible  to  resist  the  good 
nature  of  him.  She  could  not  dislike  him,  even  though 
she  dreaded  him  deep  down  in  her  heart.  Her  blood 
was  hot  and  cold  by  turns  when  she  was  with  him,  as 
her  mind  opened  and  shut  to  thoughts  pleasant  and 

120 


A  FAITHFUL  CRAYON-POINT 

unpleasant  with  something  of  the  regularity  of  a  fish's 
gills  in  breathing. 

"  I  knew  you  would.  It's  great.  You  won't  care 
much  for  our  place,  Miss  Castleton.  Sara's  got  the 
pick  of  the  coast  in  that  place  of  hers.  Trust  old  Se 
bastian  Gooch  to  get  the  best  of  everything.  If  my 
dad  or  my  grand-dad  had  possessed  a  tenth  of  the 
brain  that  that  old  chap  had,  we'd  have  our  own  taber 
nacle  up  there  on  the  point,  instead  of  sulking  at  his 
back  gate.  That's  really  where  we're  located,  you 
know.  His  back  gate  opens  smack  in  the  face  of  our 
front  one.  I  think  he  did  it  with  malice  aforethought, 
too.  His  back  gate  is  two  miles  from  the  house.  It 
wasn't  really  necessary  to  go  so  far  for  a  back  gate 
as  all  that,  was  it?  To  make  it  worse,  he  put  a  big 
sign  over  it  for  us  to  read :  '  No  trespassing.  This 
means  you?  Sara  took  it  down  after  the  old  boy 
died." 

"  I  suppose  by  that  time  the  desire  to  trespass  was 
gone,"  she  said.  "One  doesn't  enjoy  freedom  of  that 
sort." 

"  I've  come  to  believe  that  the  only  free  things  we 
really  covet  are  passes  to  the  theatre.  We  never 
get  over  that,  I'm  sure.  I'd  rather  have  a  pass  to  the 
theatre  than  a  ten  dollar  bill  any  time.  I  say,  it  was 
nice  of  you  to  come  down  to  meet  me.  It  was  more 
than  I  —  er  —  expected."  He  almost  said  "  hoped 
for." 

"  Sara  was  too  busy  about  the  house  to  come,"  she 
explained  quickly.  "  And  I  had  a  few  errands  to  do  in 
the  village." 

"Don't  spoil  it!" 

"  I  am  a  horribly  literal  person,"  she  said. 

"  Better  that  than  literally  horrible,"  he   retorted, 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

rather  proud  of  himself  for  it.  "  It's  wonderful,  the 
friendship  between  you  two  girls  —  Sara's  not  much 
more  than  a  girl,  you  see.  You're  so  utterly  unlike  in 
every  way." 

"  It  isn't  strange  to  me,"  said  she  simply,  but  with 
out  looking  at  him. 

"  Of  course,  I  can  understand  it,"  he  went  on.  "  I've 
always  liked  Sara.  She's  bully.  Much  too  good  for 
my  brother,  God  rest  his  soul.  He  never  — ' 

"  Oh,  don't  utter  a  thing  like  that,  even  in  jest,"  she 
cried,  shocked  by  his  glib  remark. 

He  flushed.  "  You  didn't  know  Challis,"  he  said  al 
most  surlily. 

She  held  her  breath. 

After  a  moment,  the  points  of  his  little  moustache 
went  up  again  in  the  habitual  barometrical  smile. 
Rather  a  priggish,  supercilious  smile,  she  thought,  tak 
ing  a  glance  at  his  face. 

"  I  say  I  can  understand  it,  but  mother  and  Vivian 
will  never  be  able  to  get  it  through  those  tough  skulls 
of  theirs.  They  really  don't  like  Sara.  Snobs,  both 
of  'em  —  of  the  worst  kind,  too.  Why,  mother  has 
always  looked  upon  Sara  as  a  —  er  —  a  sort  of  brig- 
andess,  the  kind  that  steals  children  and  holds  them  for 
ransom.  Of  course,  old  man  Gooch  was  as  common  as 
rags  —  utterly  impossible,  you  know  —  but  that 
shouldn't  stand  against  Sara.  By  the  way,  her  father 
called  her  Sallie.  Her  mother  was  a  very  charming 
woman,  they  say.  We  never  knew  her.  For  that  mat 
ter,  we  never  knew  the  old  man  ujrftil  he  became  promi 
nent  as  a  father-in-law." 

The  girl  was  silent.     He  went  on. 

"  Mother  likes  you.  She  doesn't  say  it  in  so  many 
words,  but  I  can  see  that  she  wonders  how  you  can  have 


A  FAITHFUL  CRAYON-POINT  123 

anything  in  common  with  Sara.  She  prides  herself 
on  being  able  to  distinguish  blue  blood  at  a  glance. 
Silly  notion  she's  got,  but  — 

"  Please  don't  go  on,  Mr.  Wrandall,"  cried  Hetty  in 
distress. 

"  I'm  not  saying  she  isn't  friendly  to  Sara  nowa 
days,"  he  explained.  "  She's  changed  a  good  deal  in 
the  last  few  months.  I  think  she's  broadening  out  a  bit. 
Since  that  visit  to  Nice,  she's  been  quite  different.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  she  expects  to  see  a  good  bit  of  Sara 
and  you  this  summer.  It's  like  a  spring  thaw,  by 
Jove,  it  is." 

"  When  does  she  come  to  the  country?  "  asked  Hetty, 
bent  on  breaking  his  train  of  confidence. 

"  In  three  or  four  weeks.  But,  as  I  was  saying,  the 
mater  has  taken  a  great  fancy  to  you.  She  — " 

"  It's  very  nice  of  her." 

"  She  prides  herself,  as  I  said  before,  but  she  always 
makes  sure  by  asking  questions." 

"Questions?" 

"  Yes.  Although  she  could  see  through  you  as  if 
you  were  plate  glass,  she  made  it  a  point  to  ask  Sara 
all  the  questions  she  could  think  of.  Over  in  Nice, 
you  know.  Of  course  Sara  told  her  everything,  and  now 
she's  quite  sure  she  can't  be  mistaken  in  people. 
Really,  Miss  Castleton,  she's  very  amusing  sometimes, 
mother  is." 

Hetty  was  looking  straight  ahead,  her  face  set. 

"  What  did  Sara  tell  her  about  me?  " 

"  Oh,  all  that  was  necessary  to  prove  to  mother  that 
she  was  right.  As  if  it  really  made  any  difference,  you 
know." 

"  Please  explain." 

"  What  is  there  to  explain  ?     She  merely  gave  your 


124          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

pedigree,  as  we'd  say  at  the  dog  show,  begging  your 
pardon,  ma'am.  Pedigrees  are  a  sort  of  hobby  with 
the  mater.  She  collects  'em  wherever  she  goes." 

He  gave  his  moustache  a  little  twist. 

"  Then  my  references  are  satisfactory,  so  to  speak," 
said  she,  with  a  wry  little  smile. 

"  Perfectly,"  said  he,  with  conviction ;  "  if  we  are 
to  put  any  dependence  in  the  intelligence  office." 

"  Doesn't  it  stagger  Mrs.  Wrandall  somewhat  to 
reconcile  my  pedigree  to  the  position  I  occupy  in  Sara's 
household  —  that  of  companion,  so  to  say?"  asked 
Hetty,  a  slight  curl  to  her  lip. 

He  looked  rather  blank.  "  I  don't  believe  she  looks 
at  you  in  just  that  light,"  said  he  uncomfortably. 

"  I  fancy  you'd  better  enlighten  her." 

"  Let  well  enough  alone,"  quoted  he  glibly. 

"  But  I  am  a  companion,"  insisted  Hetty,  a  little 
spot  of  red  in  each  cheek. 

"  In  a  sense,  I  suppose,"  said  he  affably.  "  Of 
course,  Sara  puts  you  down  as  a  friend." 

"  I  think  you'd  better  understand  my  real  position, 
Mr.  Wrandall,"  said  she  firmly. 

"  I  do,"  said  he.  "  You  are  Sara's  friend.  That's 
enough  for  me.  The  fact  that  your  father  was  or  is 
a  distinguished  English  army  officer,  and  some  sort  of 
a  cousin  to  a  lord,  and  that  you  have  the  entree  to 
fashionable  London  drawing-rooms,  is  quite  enough  for 
mother.  That  qualifies  you  to  be  companion  to  any 
body,  she'd  say.  And  there's  the  end  to  it." 

She  was  looking  at  him  in  amazement.  Her  lips 
were  slightly  parted  and  her  eyes  were  wide.  For  a 
moment  she  was  puzzled.  Then  a  swift  smile  illumined 
her  face.  She  understood. 

"  Of  course,  in  London,  it  really  isn't  anything  to 


A  FAITHFUL  CRAYON-POINT  125 

boast  about,  getting  into  drawing-rooms,"  she  said, 
vastly  amused. 

"  Well,  it  is  over  here,"  said  he  promptly. 

"  And  it  isn't  always  open  sesame  to  be  related  to  a 
peer." 

"  I  suppose  not." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  am  glad  that  your  mother  and  Miss 
Vivian  take  me  for  what  I  am.  Do  you,  by  any  chance, 
go  in  for  pedigree,  Mr.  Wrandall?  " 

The  shaft  of  irony  sped  over  his  head. 

"  Only  in  dogs  and  horses,"  he  replied  promptly. 
"  It  means  a  lot  when  it  comes  to  buying  a  dog  or  a. 
horse." 

"  How  do  you  feel  when  you've  been  sold?  " 

"  I  take  my  medicine." 

"  As  a  good  sportsman  should." 

"  I  dare  say  you  think  I'm  a  deuce  of  a  prig  for  say 
ing  the  things  — " 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  appreciate  your  candour." 

"  Don't  hesitate  to  say  it.  I'm  used  to  being  called 
a  prig.  My  brother  Challis  always  considered  me  one. 
I  think  he  meant  snob.  But  that  was  because  our  ideals 
weren't  the  same.  By  the  way,  you  ought  to  like  Viv 
ian." 

"  That  depends." 

"  On  Vivian,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Not  precisely.  I  should  say  it  depends  on  your 
sister's  attitude  toward  Sara." 

"  Oh,  she  likes  Sara  well  enough.  Viv's  not  particu 
larly  narrow,  Miss  Castleton." 

Hetty  bestowed  a  smile  upon  him. 

"  That's  comforting,  Mr.  Wrandall,"  she  said,  and 
he  was  silent  for  a  moment,  reflecting. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  he,  as  if  a  light  had  suddenly 


126 

burst  in  upon  him,  "  you've  got  more  poise  than  any 
girl  I've  ever  seen  ?  " 

"  It's  my  bringing  up,  sir,"  she  said  mockingly. 

"  Ancestral  habit,"  he  explained,  with  a  polite  bow. 

"  Pedigreeable  manners,  perhaps." 

"  I  wish  the  mater  could  have  heard  you  say  that," 
admiringly. 

"  Don't  you  adore  the  country  at  this  time  of  the 
year?  " 

"  When  I  get  to  heaven  I  mean  to  have  a  place  in 
the  country  the  year  round,"  he  said  conclusively. 

"  And  if  you  don't  get  to  heaven?  " 

"  I  suppose  I'll  take  a  furnished  flat  somewhere." 

Sara  was  waiting  for  them  at  the  bottom  of  the 
terrace  as  they  drove  up.  He  leaped  out  and  kissed 
her  hand. 

"  Much  obliged,"  he  murmured,  with  a  slight  twist 
of  his  head  in  the  direction  of  Hetty,  who  was  giving 
orders  to  the  chauffeur. 

"  You're  quite  welcome,"  said  Sara,  with  a  smile  of 
understanding.  "She's  lovely,  isn't  she?" 

"  Enchanting ! "  said  he,  almost  too  loudly. 

Hetty  walked  up  the  long  ascent  ahead  of  them. 
She  did  not  have  to  look  back  to  know  that  they  were 
watching  her  with  unfaltering  interest.  She  could  feel 
their  gaze. 

"  Absolutely  adorable,"  he  added,  enlarging  his  esti 
mate  without  really  being  aware  that  he  voiced  it. 

Sara  shot  a  look  at  his  rapt  face,  and  turned  her  own 
away  to  hide  the  queer  little  smile  that  flickered  briefly 
and  died  away. 

Hetty,  pleading  a  sudden  headache,  declined  to  ac 
company  them  later  on  in  the  day  when  they  set  forth 
in  the  car  to  "  pick  up  "  Brandon  Booth  at  the  inn. 


A  FAITHFUL  CRAYON-POINT  127 

They  were  to  bring  him  over,  bag  and  baggage,  to  stay 
till  Tuesday. 

"  He  will  be  wild  to  paint  her,"  declared  Leslie  when 
they  were  out  of  sight  around  the  bend  in  the  road. 
He  had  waved  his  hat  to  Hetty  just  before  the  trees 
shut  off  their  view  of  her.  She  was  standing  at  the  top 
of  the  steps  beside  one  of  the  tall  Italian  vases. 
Sara  did  not  respond. 

"  By  the  way,  Sara,  is  she  the  niece  or  the  grand 
daughter  of  old  Lord  Murgatroyd?  I'm  a  bit  mixed." 
"  Her  father  is  Colonel  Castleton,  of  the  Indian 
Army,  and  he  is  the  eldest  son  of  a  second  son,  if  you 
don't  find  that  too  difficult  to  solve.  The  second  son 
aforesaid  mentioned,  so  to  speak,  was  the  brother  of 
Lord  Murgatroyd.  That  would  make  Colonel  Castle- 
ton  his  Lordship's  nephew,  but  utterly  without  pros 
pects  of  coming  into  a  title,  as  there  are  several  healthy 
British  obstacles  in  the  way.  I  suppose  one  would  call 
Hetty  a  grand-niece." 

"  Mother  wasn't  quite  certain  whether  you  said  niece 
or  grand-daughter,"  explained  Leslie.     "  Her  mother's 
dead,  I  take  it.     Who  was  she?" 
"  Why  are  you  so  curious  ?  " 
"  Isn't  it  quite  natural?  " 

"  Her  mother  was  a  Glynn.  You  have  heard  of  the 
Glynns,  of  course?  "  She  trusted  to  his  vanity  and 
was  rewarded.  The  question  was  a  sort  of  reproach. 
"  Certainly,"  he  replied,  without  hesitation.  The 
mere  fact  that  she  spoke  of  them  as  "  the  Glynns  " 
was  sufficient.  It  was  proof  enough  that  they  were 
people  one  ought  to  know,  by  name  at  least,  if  one  were 
to  profess  intelligence  regarding  the  British  aristoc 
racy.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  not  heard  of  the 
Glynns,  but  that  didn't  matter.  "  The  Irish  Glynns, 


128          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

you  mean?  "  he  ventured,  taking  a  chance  at  hitting 
the  mark.  He  had  a  faint  recollection  of  hearing  her 
say  that  Hetty  was  part  Irish. 

"  You  have  only  to  look  into  her  eyes  to  know  she's 
Irish,"  she  said  diplomatically. 

"  I've  never  seen  such  eyes,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  She's  a  darling,"  said  Sara  and  changed  the  sub 
ject,  knowing  full  well  that  he  would  come  back  to  it 
before  long.  "  Is  it  true  that  Vivian  and  Mr.  Booth 
are  interested  in  each  other?  " 

"  Yes  and  no,"  he  replied,  with  a  profound  sigh. 
"  That  is  to  say,  she's  interested  in  him  and  he  isn't 
interested  in  her  —  in  the  way  I  take  you  to  mean  it. 
I  suspect  it's  an  easy  matter  for  a  girl  to  fall  in  love 
with  Brandy.  He's  a  corking  fine  chap." 

"  Then  it  would  be  very  nice  for  Vivian,  eh?  " 

"  Oh,  quite  so  —  quite  so.  His  forbears  came  over 
with  Noah,  according  to  mother.  You  know  mother, 
Sara." 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  said  she  with  conviction. 

He  laughed  without  restraint.  "  Mother  can  rattle 
off  the  best  families  in  the  Bible  without  missing  a 
name,  beginning  with  the  Honourable  Adam.  Of 
course,  she  knows  the  Glynns  and  the  Castletons  and 
the  Murgatroyds,  although  I  dare  say  they  haven't  had 
much  to  do  with  the  Bible.  Come  to  think  of  it,  she 
did  go  to  the  trouble  of  looking  up  the  Castleton  fam 
ily  in  the  Debrett." 

"  She  did?  "  exclaimed  Sara,  with  a  slight  narrow 
ing  of  the  eyes. 

"  Yes.  She  established  the  connection  all  right 
enough.  She's  keen  for  Miss  Castleton." 

"  Oh,"  said  she,  relieved.  After  a  moment :  "  And 
you?" 


A  FAITHFUL  CRAYON-POINT  129 

"  I'm  mad  about  her,"  he  said  simply,  and  then,  for 
some  unaccountable  reason,  gave  over  being  loquacious 
and  lapsed  into  a  state  of  almost  lugubrious  quiet. 

She  glanced  at  his  face,  furtively  at  first,  as  if  uncer 
tain  of  his  mood,  then  with  a  prolonged  stare  that  was 
frankly  curious  and  amused. 

"  Don't  lose  your  head,  Leslie,"  she  said  softly,  al 
most  purringly. 

He  started.     "  Oh,  I  say,  Sara,  I'm  not  likely  to  — " 

"  Stranger  things  have  happened,"  she  interrupted, 
with  a  shake  of  her  head.  "  I  can't  afford  to  have  you 
making  love  to  her  and  getting  tired  of  the  game,  as 
you  always  do,  dear  boy,  just  as  soon  as  you  find  she's 
in  love  with  you.  She  is  too  dear  to  be  hurt  in  that 
way.  You  mustn't  — " 

"  Good  Lord ! "  he  cried ;  "  what  a  bounder  you 
must  take  me  for!  Why,  if  I  thought  she'd —  But 
nonsense !  Let's  talk  about  something  else.  Yourself, 
for  instance." 

She  leaned  back  with  a  smile  on  her  lips,  but  not  in 
her  eyes ;  and  drew  a  long,  deep  breath.  He  was  hard 
hit.  That  was  what  she  wanted  to  know. 

They  found  Booth  at  the  inn.  He  was  sitting  on  the 
old-fashioned  porch,  surrounded  by  bags  and  boys. 
As  he  climbed  into  the  car  after  the  bags,  the  boys 
grinned  and  jingled  the  coins  in  their  pockets  and 
ventured,  almost  in  unison,  the  intelligence  that  they 
would  all  be  there  if  he  ever  came  back  again.  Big  and 
little,  they  had  transported  his  easel  and  canvases  from 
place  to  place  for  three  weeks  or  more  and  his  de 
parture  was  to  be  regarded  as  a  financial  calamity. 

"  I  could  go  to  ten  circuses  this  summer  if  that  many 
of  'em  was  to  come  to  town,"  said  one  small  citizen  as 
Croesus  rode  away  in  a  cloud  of  village  dust. 


130          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  Gee,  I  wish  to  goodness  he'd  come  back,"  was  the 
soulful  cry  of  another. 

"  I  don't  like  them  pictures  he  paints,  though,  do 
you?  "  observed  another,  more  critical  than  avaricious. 

"  Naw ! "  was  the  scornful  reply,  also  in  unison. 

From  which  it  may  be  gathered  that  Mr.  Brandon 
Booth  was  not  cherished  for  art's  sake  alone,  but  for 
its  relation  to  Mammon. 

The  object  of  their  comments  was  making  himself 
agreeable  to  the  lady  who  was  to  be  his  hostess  for  the 
next  few  days.  Leslie,  perhaps  in  the  desire  to  be  alone 
with  his  reflections,  sat  forward  with  the  chauffeur, 
and  paid  little  or  no  heed  to  that  unhappy  person's 
comments  on  the  vile  condition  of  all  village  thorough 
fares,  New  York  City  included. 

"  By  the  way,  Sara,"  he  said,  suddenly  breaking  in 
on  the  conversation  that  went  on  at  his  back,  and 
thereby  betraying  a  secret  wish  that  was  taking  shape 
in  his  mind,  "  what  have  you  done  with  the  little  red 
runabout  you  had  a  year  or  two  ago?  " 

She  started.     "  You  mean  — " 

As  she  hesitated,  he  went  on.  "  It  would  come  in 
very  handy  for  twosome  tours." 

"  I  disposed  of  it  some  time  ago,  Leslie,"  said  she. 
**  I  thought  you'd  remember." 

"  Oh, —  er  —  by  Jove !  "  he  stammered  in  confusion. 

He  remembered  that  she  had  given  it  away  a  day 
or  two  after  that  awful  night  in  March,  and  he  recalled 
her  reason  for  doing  so.  He  twisted  the  tiny  end  of  his 
moustache  with  unnecessary  vigour  — •  I  might  say  fury. 
It  was  a  most  unhappy  faux  pas. 

"  Softening  of  the  brain,"  he  muttered,  in  dismal 
apology  to  himself. 

"  And  you  painted   those   wretched   little   boys    in- 


A  FAITHFUL  CRAYON-POINT  131 

stead  of  the  beautiful  things  that  Nature  provides  for 
us  out  here,  Mr.  Booth?  "  Sara  was  saying  to  the  ar 
tist  beside  her. 

"  Of  course,  I  managed  to  get  in  a  bit  of  Nature, 
even  at  that,"  said  he,  with  a  smile.  "  Boys  are  pretty 
close  to  earth,  you  know.  To  be  perfectly  honest,  I 
did  it  in  order  to  get  away  from  the  eminently  beauti 
ful  but  unnatural  things  I'm  required  to  paint  at 
home." 

"Your  subjects  wouldn't  care  for  that,"  she  warned 
him,  in  some  amusement. 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  the  comments  of  the  boys  on  the 
things  I  did  up  here  weren't  altogether  flattering  to  me, 
so  I'm  chastened.  They  were  more  than  frank  about 
them.  We  live  to  learn." 

"  Where  are  the  canvases?  " 

"  I  immortalised  them,  one  and  all,  by  destroying 
them  by  fire  and  sword,  only  the  sword  happened  to  be 
a  penknife.  They  made  a  most  excellent  bonfire." 

"  And  so,  you've  nothing  to  show  for  your  fort 
night?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  A  most  desirable  invitation  to  forget  my 
failures  at  your  expense." 

"Poof!" 

"  I  don't  blame  you.  It  was  inane.  Still,  I  can't 
help  saying,  Mrs.  Wrandall,  that  it  is  a  desirable  invi 
tation.  You  won't  say  '  poof  '  to  that,  because  I  won't 
listen  to  it." 

"  On  the  other  hand,  it's  very  good  of  you  to  come.'* 

"  It  seems  to  me  I'm  always  in  debt  to  Leslie,  with 
slim  prospect  of  ever  squaring  accounts,"  said  he 
whimsically.  "  But  for  him,  I  couldn't  have  come." 

"  I  suppose  we  will  see  you  at  the  Wrandall  place 
this  summer." 


132          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  I'm  coining  out  to  paint  Leslie's  sister  in  June,  I 
believe.  And  that  reminds  me,  I  came  upon  an  uncom 
monly  pretty  girl  not  far  from  your  place  the  other 
day  —  and  yesterday,  as  well  —  some  one  I've  met  be 
fore,  unless  I'm  vastly  mistaken.  I  wonder  if  you  know 
your  neighbours  well  enough  —  by  sight,  at  least  —  to 
venture  a  good  guess  as  to  who  I  mean." 

She  appeared  thoughtful. 

"  Oh,  there  are  dozens  of  pretty  girls  in  the  neigh 
bourhood.  Can't  you  remember  where  you  met  — " 
She  stopped  suddenly,  a  swift  look  of  apprehension  in 
her  eyes. 

He  failed  to  note  the  look  or  the  broken  sentence. 
He  was  searching  in  his  coat  pocket  for  something. 
Selecting  a  letter  from  the  middle  of  a  small  pocket, 
he  held  it  out  to  her. 

"  I  sketched  this  from  memory.  She  posed  all  too 
briefly  for  me,"  he  said. 

On  the  back  of  the  envelope  was  a  remarkably  good 
likeness  of  Hetty  Castleton,  done  broadly,  sketchily 
with  a  crayon  point,  evidently  drawn  with  haste  while 
the  impression  was  fresh,  but  long  after  she  had  passed 
out  of  range  of  his  vision. 

"  I  know  her,"  said  Sara  quietly.  "  It's  very  clever, 
Mr.  Booth." 

"  There  is  something  hauntingly  familiar  about  it," 
he  went  on,  looking  at  the  sketch  with  a  frown  of  per 
plexity.  "  I've  seen  her  somewhere,  but  for  the  life 
of  me  I  can't  place  her.  Perhaps  in  a  crowded  street, 
or  the  theatre,  or  a  railway  train  —  just  a  fleeting 
glimpse,  you  know.  But  in  any  event,  I  got  a  lasting 
impression.  Queer  things  like  that  happen,  don't  you 
think  so?" 

Mrs.  Wrandall  leaned  forward  and  spoke  to  Leslie. 


A  FAITHFUL  CRAYON-POINT  133 

As  he  turned,  she  handed  him  the  envelope,  without 
comment. 

"  Great  Scott !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Mr.  Booth  is  a  mind  reader,"  she  explained.  "  He 
has  been  reading  your  thoughts,  dear  boy." 

Booth  understood,  and  grinned. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  — "  began  the  dumfounded 
Leslie,  still  staring  at  the  sketch.  "  Upon  my  word, 
it's  a  wonderful  likeness,  old  chap.  I  didn't  know  you'd 
ever  met  her." 

"Met  her?"  cried  Booth,  an  amiable  conspirator. 
"  I've  never  met  her." 

"  See  here,  don't  try  anything  like  that  on  me.  How 
could  you  do  this  if  you've  never  seen  — " 

"  He  is  a  mind  reader,"  cried  Sara. 

"  Haven't  you  been  thinking  of  her  steadily  for  — 
well,  we'll  say  ten  minutes?"  demanded  Booth. 

Leslie  reddened.     "  Nonsense !  " 

"  That's  a  mental  telepathy  sketch,"  said  the  artist, 
complacently. 

"  When  did  you  do  it?  " 

"  This  instant,  you  might  say.  See !  Here  is  the 
crayon  point.  I  always  carry  one  around  with  me  for 
just  such  — " 

"  All  right,"  said  Leslie  blandly,  at  the  same  time 
putting  the  envelope  in  his  own  pocket ;  "  we'll  let  it 
go  at  that.  If  you're  so  clever  at  mind  pictures,  you 
can  go  to  work  and  make  another  for  yourself.  I  mean 
to  keep  this  one." 

"  I  say,"  began  Booth,  dismayed. 

"  One's  thoughts  are  his  own,"  said  the  happy  pos 
sessor  of  the  sketch.  He  turned  his  back  on  them. 

Sara  was  contrite.  "  He  will  never  give  it  up,"  she 
lamented. 


134          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  Is  he  really  hard  hit?  "  asked  Booth  in  surprise. 

"I, wonder,"  mused  Sara. 

"  Of  course,  he's  welcome  to  the  sketch,  confound 
him." 

"  Would  you  like  to  paint  her?  " 

"  Is  this  a  commission?  " 

"  Hardly.  I  know  her,  that's  all.  She  is  a  very 
dear  friend." 

"  My  heart  is  set  on  painting  some  one  else,  Mrs. 
Wrandall." 

"  Oh !  " 

"  When  I  know  you  better,  I'll  tell  you  who  she  is." 

"  Could  you  make  a  sketch  of  this  other  one  from 
memory?  "  she  asked  lightly. 

"  I  think  so.  I'll  show  you  one  this  evening.  I 
have  my  trusty  crayon  about  me  always,  as  I  said  be 
fore." 

Later  in  the  afternoon  Booth  came  face  to  face  with 
Hetty.  He  was  descending  the  stairs  and  met  her 
coming  up.  The  sun  streamed  in  through  the  tall 
windows  at  the  turn  in  the  stairs,  shining  full  in  her  up 
lifted  face  as  she  approached  him  from  below.  He 
could  not  repress  the  start  of  amazement.  She  was 
carrying  a  box  of  roses  in  her  arms  —  red  roses  whose 
stems  protruded  far  beyond  the  end  of  the  pasteboard 
box  and  reeked  of  a  fragrant  dampness. 

She  gave  him  a  shy,  startled  smile  as  she  passed. 
He  had  stopped  to  make  room  for  her  on  the  turn. 
Somewhat  dazed  he  continued  on  his  way  down  the 
steps,  to  suddenly  remember  with  a  twinge  of  dismay 
that  he  had  not  returned  her  polite  smile,  but  had 
stared  at  her  with  most  unblinking  fervour.  In  no  lit 
tle  shame  and  embarrassment,  he  sent  a  swift  glance 
over  his  shoulder.  She  was  walking  close  to  the  ban- 


A  FAITHFUL  CRAYON-POINT  135 

ister  rail  on  the  floor  above.  As  he  glanced  up  their 
eyes  met,  for  she  too  had  turned  to  peer. 

Leslie  Wrandall  was  standing  near  the  foot  of  the 
stairs.  There  was  an  eager,  exalted  look  in  his  face 
that  slowly  gave  way  to  well-assumed  unconcern  as  his 
friend  came  upon  him  and  grasped  his  arm. 

"I  say,  Leslie,  is  —  is  she  staying  here?"  cried 
Booth,  lowering  his  voice  to  an  excited  half-whisper. 

"  Who  ?  "  demanded  Wrandall  vacantly.  His  mind 
appeared  to  be  elsewhere. 

"  Why,  that's  the  girl  I  saw  on  the  road  —  Wake 
up !  The  one  on  the  envelope,  you  ass.  Is  she  the  one 
you  were  telling  me  about  in  the  club  —  the  Miss 
What's-Her-Name  who  — " 

"  Oh,  you  mean  Miss  Castleton.  She's  just  gone 
upstairs.  You  must  have  met  her  on  the  steps." 

"  You  know  I  did.     So  that  is  Miss  Castleton." 

"  Ripping,  isn't  she?     Didn't  I  tell  you  so?  " 

"  She's  beautiful.  She  is  a  type,  just  as  you  said,, 
old  man, —  a  really  wonderful  type.  I  saw  her  yester 
day  —  and  the  day  before." 

"  I've  been  wondering  how  you  managed  to  get  SL 
likeness  of  her  on  the  back  of  an  envelope,"  said  Leslie 
sarcastically.  "  Must  have  had  a  good  long  look  at 
her,  my  boy.  It  isn't  a  snap-shot,  you  know." 

Booth  flushed.  "  It  is  an  impression,  that's  all.  I 
drew  it  from  memory,  'pon  my  soul." 

"  She'll  be  immensely  gratified,  I'm  sure." 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Les,  don't  be  such  a  fool  as  to- 
show  her  the  thing,"  cried  Booth  in  consternation. 
"  She'd  never  understand." 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  worry.  She  has  a  fine  sense  of 
humour." 

Booth  didn't  know  whether  to  laugh  or  scowl.     He 


136          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

compromised  with  himself  by  slipping  his  arm  through 
that  of  his  friend  and  saying  heartily : 

"  I  wish  you  the  best  of  luck,  old  boy." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Leslie  driljr. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN  WHICH  HETTY  IS  WEIGHED 

BOOTH  and  Leslie  returned  to  the  city  on  Tuesday. 
The  artist  left  behind  him  a  "  memory  sketch  "  of  Sara 
Wrandall,  done  in  the  solitude  of  his  room  long  after 
the  rest  of  the  house  was  wrapped  in  slumber  on  the 
first  night  of  his  stay  at  Southlook.  It  was  as  sketchily 
drawn  as  the  one  he  had  made  of  Hetty,  and  quite  as 
wonderful  in  the  matter  of  faithfulness,  but  utterly 
without  the  subtle  something  that  made  the  other  nota 
ble.  The  craftiness  of  the  artist  was  there,  but  the 
touch  of  inspiration  was  lacking. 

Sara  was  delighted.  She  was  flattered,  and  made 
no  pretence  of  disguising  the  fact. 

The  discussion  which  followed  the  exhibition  of  the 
sketch  at  luncheon,  was  very  animated.  It  served  to 
excite  Leslie  to  such  a  degree  that  he  brought  forth 
from  his  pocket  the  treasured  sketch  of  Hetty,  for  the 
purpose  of  comparison. 

The  girl  who  had  been  genuinely  enthusiastic  over 
the  picture  of  Sara,  and  who  had  not  been  by  way  of 
knowing  that  the  first  sketch  existed,  was  covered  with 
confusion.  Embarrassment  and  a  shy  sense  of  gratifi 
cation  were  succeeded  almost  at  once  by  a  feeling  of 
keen  annoyance.  The  fact  that  the  sketch  was  in  Les 
lie's  possession  —  and  evidently  a  thing  to  be  cherished 
—  took  away  all  the  pleasure  she  may  have  experienced 
during  the  first  few  moments  of  interest. 

Booth  caught  the  angry  flash  in  her  eyes,  preceding 
the  flush  and  unaccountable  pallor  that  followed  al 
most  immediately.  He  felt  guilty,  and  at  the  same 

137 


138          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

time  deeply  annoyed  with  Leslie.  Later  on  he  tried  to 
explain,  but  the  attempt  was  a  lamentable  failure.  She 
laughed,  not  unkindly,  in  his  face. 

Leslie  had  refused  to  allow  the  sketch  to  leave  his 
hand.  If  she  could  have  gained  possession  of  it,  even 
for  an  instant,  the  thing  would  have  been  torn  to  bits. 
But  it  went  back  into  his  commodious  pocket-book,  and 
she  was  too  proud  to  demand  it  of  him. 

She  became  oddly  sensitive  to  Booth's  persistent 
though  inoffensive  scrutiny  as  time  wore  on.  More 
than  once  she  had  caught  him  looking  at  her  with  a 
fixedness  that  betrayed  perplexity  so  plainly  that  she 
could  not  fail  to  recognise  an  underlying  motive.  He 
was  vainly  striving  to  refresh  his  memory:  that  was 
clear  to  her.  There  is  no  mistaking  that  look  in  a 
person's  eyes.  It  cannot  be  disguised. 

He  was  as  deeply  perplexed  as  ever  when  the  time 
came  for  him  to  depart  with  Leslie.  He  asked  her 
point  blank  on  the  last  evening  of  his  stay  if  they  had 
ever  met  before,  and  she  frankly  confessed  to  a  short 
memory  for  faces.  It  was  not  unlikely,  she  said,  that 
he  had  seen  her  in  London  or  in  Paris,  but  she  had  not 
the  faintest  recollection  of  having  seen  him  before  their 
meeting  in  the  road. 

Urged  by  Sara,  she  had  reluctantly  consented  to 
sit  to  him  for  a  portrait  during  the  month  of  June. 
He  put  the  request  in  such  terms  that  it  did  not  sound 
like  a  proposition.  It  was  not  surprising  that  he 
should  want  her  for  a  subject ;  in  fact,  he  put  it  in  such 
a  way  that  she  could  not  but  feel  that  she  would  be  do 
ing  him  a  great  and  enduring  favour.  She  imposed 
but  one  condition :  the  picture  was  never  to  be  exhibited. 
He  met  that,  with  bland  magnanimity,  by  proffering 
the  canvas  to  Mrs.  Wrandall,  as  the  subject's  "next 


IN  WHICH  HETTY  IS  WEIGHED       139 

best  friend,"  to  "  have  and  to  hold  so  long  as  she  might 
live,"  "  free  gratis,"  "  with  the  artist's  compliments," 
and  so  on  and  so  forth,  in  airy  good  humour. 

Leslie's  aid  had  been  solicited  by  both  Sara  and  the 
painter  in  the  final  effort  to  overcome  the  girl's  objec 
tions.  He  was  rather  bored  about  it,  but  added  his 
voice  to  the  general  clamour.  With  half  an  eye  one 
could  see  that  he  did  not  relish  the  idea  of  Hetty  posing 
for  days  to  the  handsome,  agreeable  painter.  More 
over,  it  meant  that  Booth,  who  could  afford  to  gratify 
his  own  whims,  would  be  obliged  to  spend  a  month  or 
more  in  the  neighbourhood,  so  that  he  could  devote  him 
self  almost  entirely  to  the  consummation  of  this  par 
ticular  undertaking.  Moreover,  it  meant  that  Vivian's 
portrait  was  to  be  temporarily  disregarded. 

Sara  Wrandall  was  quick  to  recognise  the  first  symp 
toms  of  jealousy  on  the  part  of  her  brother-in-law. 
She  had  known  him  for  years.  In  that  time  she  had 
been  witness  to  a  dozen  of  his  encounters  in  the  lists  of 
love,  or  what  he  chose  to  designate  as  love,  and  had 
seen  him  emerge  from  each  with  an  unscarred  heart 
and  a  smiling  visage.  Never  before  had  he  shown  the 
slightest  sign  of  jealousy,  even  when  the  affair  was  at 
its  rosiest.  The  excellent  ego  which  mastered  him 
would  not  permit  him  to  forget  himself  so  far  as  to  con 
sider  any  one  else  worthy  of  a  feeling  of  jealousy.  But 
now  he  was  flying  an  alien  flag.  He  was  turning 
against  himself  and  his  smug  convictions.  He  was  at 
least  annoyed,  if  not  jealous.  Doubtless  he  was  sur 
prised  at  himself ;  perhaps  he  wondered  what  had  come 
over  him. 

Sara  noted  these  signs  of  self-abasement  (it  could 
be  nothing  else  where  a  Wrandall  was  concerned),  and 
smiled  inwardly.  The  new  idol  of  the  Wrandalls  was 


140          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

in  love,  selfishly,  insufferably  in  love  as  things  went 
with  all  the  Wrandalls.  They  hated  selfishly,  and  so 
they  loved.  Her  husband  had  been  their  king.  But 
their  king  was  dead,  long  live  the  king !  Leslie  had 
put  on  the  family  crown, —  a  little  jauntily,  perhaps, — • 
cocked  over  the  eye  a  bit,  so  to  speak  —  but  it  was  there 
just  the  same,  annoyingly  plain  to  view. 

Sara  had  tried  to  like  him.  He  had  been  her  friend, 
the  only  one  she  could  claim  among  them  all.  And 
yet,  beneath  his  genial  allegiance,  she  could  detect  the 
air  of  condescension,  the  bland  attitude  of  a  superior 
who  defends  another's  cause  for  the  reason  that  it  grati 
fies  Nero.  She  experienced  a  thrill  of  malicious  joy 
in  contemplating  the  fall  of  Nero.  He  would  bring 
down  his  house  about  his  head,  and  there  would  be  no 
Rome  to  pay  the  fiddler. 

In  the  train  that  Tuesday  morning,  Booth  elected 
to  chaff  his  friend  on  the  progress  of  his  campaign. 
They  were  seated  opposite  to  each  other  in  the  almost 
empty  parlour-car. 

"  Buck  up,  old  chap,"  he  counselled  scoffingly. 
"  Don't  look  so  disconsolate.  You're  coming  out  again 
at  the  end  of  the  week." 

Leslie  had  been  singularly  reticent  for  a  matter  of 
ten  miles  or  more  after  leaving  the  little  station  be 
hind.  His  attention  seemed  to  be  engaged  strictly  in 
the  study  of  objects  beyond  the  car  window. 

"What's  that?  "  he  demanded  curtly. 

"  I  say  you're  lucky  enough  to  be  asked  again  for 
the  end  of  the  — " 

"  I've  got  a  standing  invitation,  if  that's  what  you 
mean.  Sara  gives  me  a  meal  ticket,  as  it  were.  Noth 
ing  extraordinary  in  my  going  out  whenever  I  like,  is 
there?"  His  manner  was  a  trifle  offish. 


Booth  laughed.  "  In  spite  of  your  disagreeable  re 
mark,  I  wish  you  good  luck,  old  man." 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  driving  at,  Brandy?  " 

"  I  only  meant  to  cheer  you  up  a  bit,  that's  all." 

"  Thanks !  " 

There  was  another  interval  of  silence.  Leslie  fur 
tively  studied  the  face  of  his  friend,  who  had  resumed 
his  dreamy  contemplation  of  the  roof  of  the  car,  his 
hands  clasped  behind  his  head,  his  legs  outstretched. 

"  I  say,  Brandy,"  he  ventured  at  last,  a  trace  of  em 
barrassment  in  his  manner,  "  if  you've  nothing  better 
to  do,  come  down  and  dine  with  us  to-night  —  en  fam- 
ille.  Viv  said  over  the  'phone  this  morning  that  we 
are  dining  alone  in  state.  Come  along,  old  chap,  and 
wake  us  up.  What  say?  " 

A  clever  mind-reader  could  have  laid  bare  the  motive 
in  this  cordial,  even  eager  invitation.  He  was  seeking 
to  play  Vivian  against  Hetty  in  the  game,  which  seemed 
to  have  taken  on  a  new  turn. 

Booth  was  not  a  mind-reader,  although  in  jest  he 
had  posed  as  one.  "  I'm  quite  sure  I've  nothing  better 
to  do,"  he  said.  "  I'd  suggest,  however,  that  you  let 
the  invitation  come  from  some  one  in  authority.  Your 
mother,  for  instance." 

"  Nonsense,"  cried  the  other  blithely.  "  You  know 
you've  got  a  meal  ticket  at  our  house,  good  for  a  million 
punches.  Still  I'll  have  Vivian  call  you  up  this  after 
noon." 

"  If  she  wants  me,  I'll  come,"  said  Booth  in  the  most 
matter-of-fact  way. 

Leslie  settled  down  with  a  secret  sigh  of  relief.  He 
regained  his  usual  loquaciousness.  The  points  of  his 
little  moustache  resumed  their  uprightness. 

"How   do  you   like   Sara?"   he   asked.     It   was   a 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

casual  question,  with  no  real  meaning  behind  it  as  it 
was  uttered.  No  sooner  had  it  left  his  lips,  however, 
than  a  new  and  rather  staggering  idea  entered  his 
mind, —  a  small  thing  at  first  but  one  that  grew  with 
.amazing  swiftness. 

"  She  is  splendid,"  said  Booth  warmly. 

*'  I  thought  you'd  like  her,"  said  Leslie,  the  idea 
•growing  apace:  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  he  might 
be  nurturing  disloyalty  to  the  interests  of  his  own  sis 
ter.  Things  of  that  sort  never  bothered  Leslie.  When 
all  was  said  and  done,  Vivian  had  but  a  slim  chance  at 
best,  so  why  champion  a  faint  hope  ?  "  Why  don't  you 
do  a  portrait  of  her?  It  would  be  a  wonderful  thing, 
old  chap." 

He  sat  up  a  trifle  straighter  in  his  chair. 

"  She  hasn't  asked  me  to,  which  is  the  best  reason  in 
the  world. 

"  Oh,  I  can  fix  that."  His  lively  imagination  was 
full  of  it  now. 

"  Thanks.     Don't  bother." 

"  And  there's  this  to  be  said  for  a  portrait  of  Sara," 
went  on  Leslie,  rather  too  eagerly:  "  she  wouldn't  ob 
ject  to  having  it  exhibited  in  the  galleries.  'Gad,  it 
would  do  you  a  world  of  good,  Brandy." 

The  other's  eyes  narrowed.  "  I  suppose  I  am  to  in 
fer  that  Mrs.  Wrandall  courts  publicity." 

"  Not  at  all,"  cried  the  other  impatiently.  "  What 
I  mean  is  this:  she's  taken  a  fancy  to  you,  and  if  her 
portrait  could  be  the  means  of  helping  you  — " 

"  Oh,  cut  that  out,  Les, —  cut  it  out,"  growled  Booth 
coldly. 

"  Well,  in  any  event,  if  you  want  to  paint  her,  I  can 
fix  it  for  you,"  announced  his  companion. 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  old  chap,  I'll  tackle  Miss  Cas- 


IN  WHICH  HETTY  IS  WEIGHED       143 

tleton  first,"  said  Booth,  dismissing  the  matter  with  a 
yawn. 

"  I  hate  the  word  tackle,"  said  Leslie. 

On  a  bright,  sunny  afternoon  two  weeks  later,  Mrs. 
Redmond  Wrandall  received  her  most  intimate  friend 
in  her  boudoir.  They  were  both  in  ample  black.  Mrs. 
Howe-Martin,  it  seems,  had  suffered  a  recent  bereave 
ment  —  with  an  aspect  of  permanency, —  in  the  loss  of 
a  four  thousand  dollar  Airdale  who  had  stopped  traffic 
in  Fifth  Avenue  for  twenty  minutes  while  a  sympathetic 
crowd  viewed  his  gory  remains,  and  an  unhappy  but 
garrulous  taxi-cab  driver  tried  to  account  for  his 
crime.  He  never  even  thought  of  the  insanity  dodge. 
The  Airdale  was  given  a  most  impressive  funeral  and 
was  buried  in  pomp  with  all  his  medals,  ribbons,  tags, 
collars  and  platinum  leashes,  but  minus  a  few  of  the 
uncollected  parts  of  his  anatomy.  While  it  had  been  a 
complete  catastrophe,  he  was  by  no  means  a  complete 
carcass. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  his  mistress  went  into  mourning, 
denying  herself  so  many  diversions  that  not  a  few  of 
her  friends  became  alarmed  and  advised  her  husband 
to  put  her  in  a  sanitarium.  He  was  willing,  poor  chap, 
but  not  she.  She  couldn't  see  the  sense  of  confining 
her  grief  to  the  four  walls  of  a  sanitarium  while  the 
four  winds  of  heaven  were  at  her  disposal. 

The  most  distressing  feature  of  the  great  Airdale's 
taking-off  lay  in  the  fact  that  his  descendants  • —  he 
had  several  sets  of  great-grandchildren — appeared  to 
be  uncommonly  ordinary  brutes,  without  a  symptom  of 
good  breeding  in  the  lot  of  them.  They  were  so  unde- 
viatingly  gauche  and  middle-class,  that  already  the 
spiteful  tongues  of  envy  had  begun  to  question  his 
right  to  the  medals  and  ribbons  acquired  at  the  bench 


144          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

shows,  where  Mrs.  Howe-Martin  was  considered  one  of 
the  immortals.  She  could  have  got  a  blue  ribbon  on  a 
yellow  dog  any  time.  Of  course,  in  defence  of  her 
exotic  Airdale,  she  unblinldngly  fell  back  on  the  para 
phrase  :  "  It's  a  wise  father  that  knows  his  own  son  " ; 
or  the  other  way  round,  just  as  you  please. 

Mrs.  Rowe-Martin  professedly  was  middle-aged  — 
that  is  to  say,  just  rounding  fifty.  As  a  woman  is  al 
ways  fifty  until  she  is  sixty,  just  as  it  is  nine  o'clock 
until  the  stroke  of  ten,  there  may  be  some  question  as 
to  which  end  of  the  middle-aged  period  she  was  round 
ing,  but  as  that  isn't  material  to  the  development  of  this 
story,  we  will  give  her  the  benefit  of  the  doubt  and 
merely  say  that  sensibly  she  dressed  in  black. 

She  was  Mrs.  Wrandall's  closest  friend  and  confi 
dante.  It  was  Mrs.  Rowe-Martin  who  rushed  over  and 
gave  the  smelling  salts  to  Mrs.  Wrandall  when  that  ex 
cellent  lady  collapsed  on  hearing  that  her  son  Challis 
was  going  to  marry  the  daughter  of  old  Sebastian 
Gooch.  It  was  she  who  acted  as  spokeswoman  for  the 
distressed  mother  and  told  the  world  —  that  is  to  say, 
their  world  —  that  Sara  was  a  scheming,  designing 
creature,  whose  sole  aim  in  life  was  to  get  into  the  smart 
set  by  the  easiest  way.  It  was  she  who  comforted  Mrs. 
Wrandall,  after  the  lamentable  deed  was  done,  by  pro 
claiming  from  the  house-tops  that  old  man  Gooch's 
daughter  should  never  enter  society  if  she  could  prevent 
it,  and  went  so  far  as  to  invite  Challis  to  all  of  her 
affairs  without  asking  his  wife  to  accompany  him,  quite 
as  if  she  didn't  know  that  he  had  a  wife.  (In  speaking 
of  her  to  Challis,  she  invariably  alluded  to  Sara  as 
Miss  Gooch,  for  something  over  a  year  after  the  wed 
ding  —  and  might  have  gone  on  for  ever  had  not  Mrs. 
Wrandall,  senior,  upset  everything  by  giving  a  recep- 


IN  WHICH  HETTY  IS  WEIGHED       145 

tion  in  honour  of  her  daughter-in-law:  a  bolt  from  a 
clear  sky,  you  may  be  sure,  that  left  Mrs.  Howe-Mar 
tin  stunned  and  bleeding  on  the  battlefield  of  a  mis 
taken  cause.)  She  never  quite  got  over  that  bit  of 
treachery  on  the  part  •£  her  very  best  friend,  although 
she  made  the  best  of  it  by  slyly  confiding  to  other  stu 
pefied  persons  that  Challis's  father  had  taken  the  bit 
in  his  mouth, —  God  knows  why !  —  and  that  Mrs. 
Wrandall  thought  best  to  humour  him  for  the  time  be 
ing,  at  least.  And  it  was  she  who  came  to  Mrs.  Wran 
dall  in  her  greatest  trial  and  performed  the  gentlest 
deeds  that  one  woman  can  do  for  another  when  all  the 
world  has  gone  black  and  hateful  to  her.  When  you 
put  her  to  the  real  test,  a  woman  will  always  rise  above 
herself,  no  matter  how  lofty  she  may  have  considered 
herself  beforehand. 

They  were  drinking  tea,  with  the  lemon  left  out. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Howe-Martin,  "  I  quite  agree 
with  you.  Leslie  should  be  thinking  of  it." 

"  It  means  so  much  to  me,  Harriet,  his  getting  the 
right  sort  of  girl.  I  feel  confident  that  he  is  interested 
• — very  deeply  interested  in  Miss  Castleton." 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  like  her." 

"  She  is  a  dear." 

"  My  sister  has  met  her  in  London,  and  at  one  or 
two  of  the  country  places.  I  was  inquiring  only  yes 
terday.  When  I  mentioned  that  she  is  related  to  Lord 
Murgatroyd,  Frances  remembered  her  quite  well.  She 
sees  a  lot  of  them,  you  know,  during  the  season,"  ex 
plained  Mrs.  Howe-Martin  affably. 

Mrs.  Wrandall  concealed  her  curiosity.  In  the  most 
casual  way  she  remarked : 

"  I  must  ask  Miss  Castleton  if  she  remembers  Mrs. 
Roodleigh." 


146          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  Oh,  I  fancy  she  won't  recall  her,"  her  friend  made 
haste  to  say.  "  Young  girls  are  not  likely  to  remember 
elderly  persons  whom  they  meet  —  Oh,  you  might  say 
in  passing,  for  that's  what  it  really  is,  you  know." 

"  Still,  if  Frances  knows  the  Murgatroyds  so  inti 
mately  it  isn't  likely — " 

"Did  I  say  she  knew  them  intimately?"  protested 
the  other,  somewhat  plaintively.  "  How  like  me !  So 
stupid!  As  a  matter  of  fact,  my  dear,  I  don't  believe 
Frances  knows  them  at  all  —  except  as  one  knows  peo 
ple  in  a  general  sort  of  way.  Drawing-rooms,  you 
know,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Of  course,  every  oiie 
knows  Lord  and  Lady  Murgatroyd.  Just  as  they 
might  know  the  Duke  of  —  well  any  one  of  the  great 
dukes,  for  that  matter." 

"  Or  King  George,"  added  Mrs.  Wrandall  softly, 
without  a  perceptible  trace  of  spite. 

"  She  has  met  them,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Rowe- 
Martin  defensively.  Somehow,  a  defence  was  called 
for;  she  couldn't  sit  there  and  say  nothing. 

Mrs.  Wrandall  changed  the  subject,  or  at  least  di 
vided  it.  She  put  the  chaff  aside,  for  that  was  what 
Mrs.  Rowe-Martin's  revelations  amounted  to. 

"  Leslie  is  such  a  steady,  unimpressionable  boy,  you 
see,"  she  said,  apropos  of  nothing. 

"  And  so  good  looking,"  added  her  friend  beamingly. 

"  It  wouldn't  be  like  him  to  make  a  mistake  where 
his  own  happiness  and  welfare  are  concerned,"  said  the 
subject's  mother,  speaking  more  truth  than  she  knew, 
but  not  more  than  Mrs.  Rowe-Martin  knew.  That  lady 
knew  Leslie  like  a  book. 

"  And  he  is  really  devoted  to  her?  " 

"  I  fear  so,"  said  her  hostess,  with  a  faint  sigh.  The 
other  sighed  also. 


IN  WHICH  HETTY  IS  WEIGHED        147 

"  My  dear,  it  would  be  perfectly  lovely.  Why  do 
you  say  that?  " 

"  I  suppose  it's  the  way  all  mothers  feel.  Of  course, 
I  want  to  be  sure  that  he  is  to  be  very,  very  happy." 

"  That  is  perfectly  natural.     And  he  will  be  happy." 

If  either  of  them  recalled  the  strenuous  efforts  Mrs. 
Wrandall  had  made  a  couple  of  years  before  to  get  her 
only  daughter  married  off  to  a  degenerate  young  Eng 
lish  duke,  the  thought  was  submerged  in  the  present 
sea  of  sentimentality.  It  speaks  well  for  Vivian's  char 
acter  that  she  flatly  refused  to  be  given  in  marriage, 
although  it  appeared  to  be  the  fashion  at  the  time.  It 
was  the  year  of  the  coronation. 

"  Miss  Castleton  is  a  most  uncommon  girl,"  said 
Mrs.  Wrandall,  again  apropos  of  nothing  that  had  gone 
before. 

"  Most  English  girls  are,"  agreed  her  friend,  scent 
ing  something. 

"  I  mean  to  say,  she  is  so  unlike  the  girls  one  sees  in 
society.  My  husband  says  she's  level-headed.  Sound 
as  a  rivet,  he  also  says.  Nothing  silly  or  flip  about 
her,  he  adds  when  he  is  particularly  enthusiastic,  and 
he  knows  I  hate  the  word  '  flip.'  Of  course  he  means 
flippant.  He  is  very  much  taken  with  her." 

Mrs.  Howe-Martin  pondered  a  moment  before  risk 
ing  her  next  remark. 

"  I  can't  quite  understand  her  taking  up  with  Sara 
Gooch  in  this  fashion.  You  know  what  I  mean.  Sara 
is  the  last  person  in  the  world  you'd  think  a  gently  bred 
person  would — "  Here  she  pulled  herself  up  with  a 
jerk.  "I  mean,  of  course,  a  gently  bred  girl.  Nat 
urally  she  would  appeal  to  men  —  and  gently  bred  men, 
at  that.  But  this  present  intimacy  —  well,  isn't  it 
rather  extraordinary?  " 


148 

Mrs.  Wrandall  drained  her  cup,  without  taking  her 
eyes  from  the  face  of  her  friend. 

"  You  must  remember,  my  dear  Harriet,  that  Miss 
Castleton  looks  upon  Sara  as  a  Wrandall,  not  a  Gooch. 
She  was  the  wife  of  a  Wrandall.  That  covers  every 
thing  so  far  as  the  girl  is  concerned.  I  dare  say  she 
finds  Sara  amusing,  interesting,  and  we  all  know  she 
is  kindness  itself.  It  doesn't  surprise  me  that  Miss 
Castleton  admires  her,  or  that  she  loves  her.  Sara  has 
improved  in  the  last  seven  or  eight  years."  She  said 
this  somewhat  loftily. 

Mrs.  Howe-Martin  was  most  amiable.  "  She  has, 
indeed,  thanks  to  propinquity." 

"  And  her  own  splendid  intelligence,"  added  Mrs. 
Wrandall. 

"  Isn't  it  wonderful  how  superior  they  are  when  it 
comes  to  intelligence?  "  cried  her  friend,  almost  plain 
tively.  "  I've  noticed  it  in  shop-girls  and  manicures, 
over  and  over  again." 

"  Perhaps  you  got  the  effect  by  contrast,"  said  Mrs. 
Wrandall,  pouring  a  little  more  tea  into  her  friend's 
cup.  Mrs.  Howe-Martin  was  silent.  "  Sara  deserves 
a  lot  of  credit.  She  has  made  a  position  for  herself, 
a  very  decided  position.  We  are  all  quite  proud  of 
her." 

Mrs.  Howe-Martin  was  on  very  intimate  terms  with 
the  Wrandall  family  skeleton.  She  could  afford  to  be 
plain  spoken. 

"  It  is  hard  to  reconcile  your  present  attitude,  my 
dear,  to  the  position  you  held  a  few  years  ago.  Heaven 
knows  you  weren't  proud  of  her  then.  She  was  dirt 
beneath  your  feet." 

"  My  dear  Harriet,"  said  Mrs.  Wrandall,  without  so 
much  as  the  flutter  of  an  eyelid,  "  I  am  not  saying  that 


IN  WHICH  HETTY  IS  WEIGHED        149 

I  would  select  her  as  a  daughter-in-law,  even  to-day. 
Don't  misunderstand  me." 

"  I  am  not  underestimating  her  splendid  intelligence," 
said  Mrs.  Howe-Martin  sharply,  and  her  hostess  was 
so  long  in  working  it  out  that  it  was  allowed  to  pass 
unresented.  "  I  dare  say  she  will  marry  again,"  went 
on  the  speaker  blandly. 

Sara's  mother-in-law  was  startled. 

"  It's  rather  early  to  suggest  such  a  thing,  isn't  it  ?  " 
she  asked  reproachfully. 

"  Forgive  me,"  cried  Mrs.  Howe-Martin,  but  she  did 
not  attempt  to  unsay  the  words.  She  meant  them  to 
sink  in  when  she  uttered  them.  It  was  commonly  pre 
dicted  in  society  that  Challis  Wrandall's  wife  would 
further  elevate  herself  by  wedding  the  most  dependable 
nobleman  who  came  along,  and  without  any  appreciable 
consideration  for  the  feelings  of  her  late  husband's  fam- 
ily. 

"  It  is  quite  natural  —  and  right  —  that  she  should 
marry,"  said  Mrs.  Wrandall,  after  a  moment's  deliber 
ation.  "  She  is  young  and  beautiful  and  we  sincerely 
hope  she  will  find  some  one  —  But,  my  dear,  aren't  we 
drifting?  We  were  speaking  of  Leslie." 

"  And  Miss  Castleton.  You  are  quite  satisfied,  then? 
You  don't  feel  that  he  would  be  making  a  mistake?  " 

Mrs.  Wrandall  touched  her  handkerchief  to  the  cor 
ners  of  her  eyes. 

"  We  could  not  possibly  raise  any  objection  to  Miss 
Castleton,  if  that  is  what  you  mean,  Harriet,"  she  said. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  feel  that  way  about  it,  my  dear," 
said  her  friend,  touching  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips. 
"  It  would  grieve  me  more  than  I  can  tell  you  if  I 
thought  you  would  have  to  go  through  with  another 
experience  like  that  of  —  Forgive  me !  I  won't  distress 


150          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

you  by  recalling  those  awful  days.  Poor,  susceptible 
Challis!" 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Wrandall  firmly ;  "  Leslie  is  safe. 
We  feel  quite  sure  of  him." 

The  visitor  was  reflective.  "  I  suppose  there  is  no 
doubt  that  Miss  Castleton  will  accept  him,"  she  mused 
aloud. 

"  We  are  assuming,  of  course,  that  Leslie  means  to 
ask  her,"  said  Leslie's  mother,  with  infinite  patience. 

"  I  only  mentioned  it  because  it  is  barely  possible 
she  may  have  other  fish  to  fry." 

"Fish?" 

"  A  figure  of  speech,  my  dear." 

And  it  set  Mrs.  Wrandall  to  thinking. 


CHAPTER    IX 

HAWKRIGHT'S  MODEL 

BRANDON  BOOTH  took  a  small  cottage  on  the  upper  road, 
half  way  between  the  village  and  the  home  of  Sara 
Wrandall,  and  not  far  from  the  abhorred  "  back  gate  " 
that  swung  in  the  teeth  of  her  connections  by  marriage. 
He  set  up  his  establishment  in  half  a  day  and,  being 
settled,  betook  himself  off  to  dine  with  Sara  and  Hetty. 
All  his  household  cares,  like  the  world,  rested  snugly  on 
the  shoulders  of  an  Atlas  named  Pat,  than  whom  there 
was  no  more  faithful  servitor  in  all  the  earth,  nor  in 
the  heavens,  for  that  matter,  if  we  are  to  accept  his  own 
estimate  of  himself.  In  any  event,  he  was  a  treasure. 
Booth's  house  was  always  in  order.  Try  as  he  would, 
he  couldn't  get  it  out  of  order.  Pat's  wife  saw  to  that. 
She  was  the  cook,  housekeeper,  steward,  seamstress, 
nurse  and  everything  else  except  the  laundress,  and 
she  would  have  been  that  if  Booth  hadn't  put  his  foot 
down  on  it.  He  was  rather  finicky  about  his  bosoms,  it 
seems  —  and  his  cuffs,  as  well. 

Pat  and  Mary  had  been  in  the  Booth  family  since  the 
flood,  so  to  speak.  As  far  back  as  Brandon  could  re 
member,  the  quaint  Irishman  had  been  the  same  wrinkled, 
nut-brown,  merry-eyed  comedian  that  he  was  to-day, 
and  Mary  the  same  serene,  blarneying  wife  of  the  man. 
They  were  not  a  day  older  than  they  were  in  the  begin 
ning.  He  used  to  wonder  if  Methuselah  knew  them. 
When  he  set  up  bachelor  quarters  for  himself  in  New 
York,  his  mother  bestowed  these  priceless  domestic 
treasures  upon  him.  They  journeyed  up  from  Phila 
delphia  and  complacently  took  charge  of  his  destinies ; 

151 


152          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

no  matter  which  way  they  led  or  how  diversified  they 
may  have  been  in  conception,  Brandon's  destinies  al 
ways  came  safely  around  the  circle  to  the  starting  point 
with  Pat  and  Mary  atop  of  them,  as  chipper  as  you 
please  and  none  the  worse  for  erosion. 

They  stoutly  maintained  that  one  never  gets  too  old 
to  learn,  a  conclusion  that  Brandon  sometimes  resented. 

He  had  been  obliged  to  discharge  three  chauffeurs 
because  Pat  did  not  get  on  well  with  them,  and  he  had 
found  it  quite  impossible  to  keep  a  dog  for  the  simple 
reason  that  Mary  insisted  on  keeping  a  cat  —  a  most 
unamiable,  belligerent  cat  at  that.  He  would  have 
made  home  a  hell  for  any  well-connected  dog. 

As  he  swung  jauntily  down  the  tree-lined  road  that 
led  to  Sara's  portals,  Booth  was  full  of  the  joy  of 
living.  Dusk  was  falling.  A  soft  bronze  glowed  in  the 
western  sky.  Over  the  earth  lay  the  tranquil  purple 
of  spent  refulgence,  the  after-glow  of  a  red  day,  for 
the  sun  had  shone  hot  since  early  morn  through  a  queer, 
smoky  screen  of  haze.  There  was  a  deep  stillness  over 
everything.  Indolent  Nature  slept  in  the  shadows,  as 
if  at  rest  after  the  weary  day,  with  scarcely  a  leaf 
stirring.  And  yet  there  was  a  subtle  coolness  in  the  air, 
the  feel  of  a  storm  that  was  yet  unborn  —  the  imper 
ceptible  shudder  of  a  tempest  that  was  drawing  its  first 
breath. 

Before  the  night  was  half  gone,  the  storm  would  be 
upon  them,  to  revel  for  a  while  and  then  pass  on,  leav 
ing  behind  it  the  dank  smell  of  a  grateful  earth. 

But  Booth  had  no  thought  for  the  thing  that  was 
afar  off.  He  was  thinking  of  the  quarter-of-an-hour 
that  came  next  in  the  wheel  of  time,  whose  minutes  were 
to  check  off  the  results  of  a  fortnight's  anticipation. 
He  had  not  seen  either  of  the  ladies  of  Southlook  in  the 


HAWKRIGHT'S  MODEL  153 

past  two  weeks,  but  he  had  been  under  the  spell  of  them 
so  sharply  that  they  were  seldom  out  of  his  thoughts. 

Sara  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  terrace,  moving  among 
the  flower  beds  in  the  formal  garden.  He  distinguished 
her  from  a  distance :  a  slender,  graceful  figure  in  black. 
A  black  scarf  edged  with  maribou  covered  her  shoulders, 
the  line  of  a  white  neck  separating  it  from  the  raven 
hue  of  her  hair.  He  paused  at  the  lower  gate  to  look. 
Then  his  gaze  was  drawn  to  the  gleaming  white  figure 
at  the  top  of  the  terrace,  outlined  distinctly  against  the 
blue-black  sky  that  hung  over  the  Sound.  Hetty  stood 
there,  straight  and  motionless,  looking  out  over  the 
water.  So  still  was  the  evening  wind  that  not  a  flutter 
of  her  soft  gown  was  noticeable.  She  was  like  a  statue. 

At  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  on  the  gravel,  Sara 
looked  up  and  instantly  smiled  her  welcome.  When 
Sara  smiled  the  heart  of  man  responded,  long  in  advance 
of  his  lips.  Hers  was  the  inviting,  mysterious  smile  of 
the  Orient,  with  the  eyes  half  shaded  by  drooping, 
languorous  lids  :  dusky,  shadowy  eyes  that  looked  at  you 
as  through  a  veil,  and  yet  were  as  clear  as  crystal  once 
you  lost  the  illusion. 

"  It  is  so  nice  to  see  you  again,"  she  said,  giving  him 
her  hand. 

" '  My  heart's  in  the  highlands,5 "  he  quoted, 
waving  a  vague  tribute  to  the  heavens.  "  And  it's  nice 
of  you  to  see  me,"  he  added  gracefully.  Then  he 
pointed  up  the  terrace.  "  Isn't  she  a  picture?  'Gad, 
it's  lovely  —  the  whole  effect.  That  picture  against 
the  sky  — " 

He  stopped  short,  and  the  sentence  was  never  finished, 
although  she  waited  for  him  to  complete  it  before  re 
marking  : 

"  Her  heart  is  not  in  the  highlands." 


154          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  You  mean  — •  something's  gone  wrong  — " 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said,  still  smiling ;  "  nothing  like  that. 
Her  heart  is  in  the  lowlands.  You  would  consider 
Washington  Square  to  be  in  the  lowlands,  wouldn't 
you?  " 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  he  said  slowly.  "  You  mean  she's  think 
ing  of  Leslie." 

"  Who  knows?  It  was  a  venture  on  my  part,  that's 
all.  She  may  be  thinking  of  you,  Mr.  Booth." 

"  Or  some  chap  in  old  England,  that's  more  like  it," 
he  retorted.  "  She  can't  be  thinking  of  me,  you  know. 
No  one  ever  thinks  of  me  when  I'm  out  of  view.  Out 
of  sight,  out  of  mind.  No ;  she's  thinking  of  something 
a  long  way  off  —  or  some  one,  if  you  choose  to  have 
it  that  way." 

"  In  that  case,  it  isn't  good  for  her  to  be  thinking  of 
things  so  remote.  Shall  we  shout  *  halloa  the  house  '?  " 

He  shot  a  glance  at  her  and  responded  gallantly: 
"  If  she  isn't  thinking  of  us,  why  should  we  be  thinking 
of  her?  Is  it  too  near  the  dinner  hour  for  you  to  let 
me  sit  here  and  rest  before  attempting  to  climb  all  those 
steps?  And  will  you  sit  beside  me,  as  the  good  Omar 
might  have  said?  "  He  was  fanning  himself  with  his 
straw  hat. 

She  searched  his  face  for  a  second,  a  smiling  but  in 
scrutable  expression  in  her  eyes,  and  then  sat  down  on 
the  rustic  bench  at  the  foot  of  the  terrace. 

"Why  didn't  you  let  me  send  the  motor  for  you?  " 
she  asked,  as  he  took  his  place  beside  her. 

"  I  mean  to  have  an  appetite  in  the  country,"  he 
said,  taking  a  deep,  full  breath.  "  Motors  don't  aid 
the  appetite.  Aeroplanes  are  better.  I  had  a  flight 
with  a  friend  up  in  Westchester  last  week.  I  was  very 
hungry  when  I  came  down." 


Hetty  stood  there,  straight  and  motionless,  looking  out 
over  the  water 

I 


HAWKRIGHTS  MODEL  155 

"  We'll  all  be  flying  before  we  really  know  it,"  said 
she.  "  Hetty  tried  it  in  France  this  spring.  Have 
you  seen  Leslie  this  week?  " 

"  I've  been  in  Philadelphia  for  a  few  days.  Is  he 
coming  out  on  Friday  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  He  comes  so  often  nowadays  that  we 
call  him  a  commuter." 

"  Attractive  spot,  this,"  said  he,  with  a  significant 
glance  up  the  terrace. 

"  So  it  would  appear." 

"  He's  really  keen  about  her  ?  " 

She  did  not  reply,  but  her  smile  meant  more  than 
words. 

"  I  am  eager  to  get  at  the  portrait,"  said  he,  after 
a  moment. 

"  Leslie  tells  me  that  you  want  to  do  me  also,"  said  she 
carelessly. 

He  flushed.  "  Confound  him !  I  suppose  it  annoys 
you,  Mrs.  Wrandall.  He  shouldn't  carry  tales." 

"But  do  you?" 

"  I  should  say  I  do,"  he  cried  warmly.  "  For  my 
own  pleasure  and  satisfaction,  you  understand.  There's 
nothing  I'd  like  better." 

"  We'll  see  how  successfully  you  flatter  Hetty,"  said 
she.  "  If  it  is  possible  to  make  her  prettier  than  she 
really  is,  you  ma}*  paint  me.  I  shall  be  the  first  to 
fall  at  your  feet  and  implore  you  to  make  me  beautiful." 

His  eyes  gleamed.  "  If  I  fail  in  that,"  said  he 
warmly,  "  it  will  be  because  I  am  without  integrity." 

Again  she  smiled  upon  him  with  half-closed,  shadowy 
eyes,  and  shook  her  head.  Then  she  arose. 

"  Let  us  go  in.  Hetty  is  eager  to  see  you  again." 
They  started  up  the  terrace.  His  face  clouded. 
"  I  have  had  a  feeling  all  along  that  she'd  rather 


156          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

not  have  this  portrait  painted,  Mrs.  Wrandall.  A 
queer  sort  of  feeling  that  she  doesn't  just  like  the  idea 
of  being  put  on  canvas." 

"  Nonsense,"  she  said,  without  looking  at  him. 

"  Of  course,  I  could  understand  her  not  caring  to 
give  up  the  time  to  it.  It's  a  nuisance,  I  know.  But 
it  isn't  that  sort  of  feeling  I  have  about  her  attitude. 
There's  something  else.  Doesn't  she  like  me?  " 

"  Of  course  she  does,"  she  exclaimed.  "  How  ridicu 
lous.  She  will  love  it,  once  the  picture  is  under  way. 
It  is  the  beginning  of  it  that  disturbs  her.  Isn't  that 
always  the  way?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  you  don't  know  women,"  said  he  ban- 
teringly. 

"  By  the  way,  have  you  been  able  to  recall  where  you 
first  saw  her,  or  is  your  memory  still  a  blank?  "  she 
asked  suddenly. 

"  I  can't  think  where  it  was  or  when,"  said  he,  "  but 
I  am  absolutely  positive  I've  seen  her  before.  Her 
face  is  not  the  kind  one  forgets,  you  know." 

"  It  may  come  to  you  unexpectedly." 

"  It's  maddening,  not  to  be  able  to  remember." 

The  dusk  of  night  hid  the  look  of  relief  that  came 
into  her  eyes. 

Hetty  met  them  at  the  top  of  the  steps.  The  elec 
tric  porch  lights  had  just  been  turned  on  by  the  butler. 
The  girl  stood  in  the  path  of  the  light.  Booth  was 
never  to  forget  the  loveliness  of  her  in  that  moment. 
He  carried  the  image  with  him  on  the  long  walk  home 
through  the  black  night.  (He  declined  Sara's  offer  to 
send  him  over  in  the  car  for  the  very  reason  that  he 
wanted  the  half-hour  of  solitude  in  which  to  concentrate 
all  the  impressions  she  had  made  on  his  fancy.) 

The  three  of  them  stood  there  for  a  few  minutes, 


HAWKRIGHT'S  MODEL  157 

awaiting  the  butler's  announcement.  Sara's  arm  was 
about  Hetty's  shoulders.  He  was  so  taken  up  with  the 
picture  they  presented  that  he  scarcely  heard  their  light 
chatter.  They  were  types  of  loveliness  so  full  of  con 
trast  that  he  marvelled  at  the  power  of  Nature  to  create 
women  in  the  same  mould  and  yet  to  model  so  differently. 

They  were  as  near  alike  in  height,  figure  and  carriage 
as  two  women  could  be,  and  yet  there  was  a  subtle  dis 
tinction  that  left  him  conscious  of  the  fact  that  two 
vastly  different  strains  of  blood  ran  through  their 
veins.  Apart,  he  would  not  have  perceived  this  marked 
difference  in  them.  Hetty  represented  the  violet,  Sara 
the  pansy.  The  distinction  may  be  subtile.  Howevery 
it  was  the  estimate  he  formed  in  that  moment  of  com 
parison. 

The  English  girl's  soft  white  gown  was  cut  low  in  the 
neck,  her  shapely  arms  were  bare.  Sara's  black  cov 
ered  her  arms  and  shoulders,  even  to  the  slender  throat. 
The  hair  of  both  was  black  and  rich  and  alive  with  the 
gloss  of  health.  The  eyes  of  one  were  blue  and  velvety, 
even  in  the  glare  of  light  that  fell  from  above ;  those  of 
the  other  were  black,  Oriental,  mysterious. 

As  they  entered  the  vestibule,  a  servant  came  up  witli 
the  word  that  Miss  Castleton  was  wanted  at  the  tele 
phone,  "  long  distance  from  New  York." 

The  girl  stopped  in  her  tracks.  Booth  looked  at 
her  in  mild  surprise,  a  condition  which  gave  way  an  in 
stant  later  to  perplexity.  The  look  of  annoyance  in 
her  eyes  could  not  be  disguised  or  mistaken. 

"  Ask  him  to  call  me  up  later,  Watson,"  she  said 
quietly. 

"  This  is  the  third  time  he  has  called,  Miss  Castle- 
ton,"  said  the  man.  "  You  were  dressing,  if  you  please, 
ma'am,  the  first  time  — " 


158          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  I  will  come,"  she  interrupted  sharply,  with  a  curi 
ous  glance  at  Sara,  who  for  some  reason  avoided  meet 
ing  Booth's  gaze. 

"  Tell  him  we  shall  expect  him  on  Friday,"  said  Mrs. 
Wrandall. 

"  By  George ! "  thought  Booth,  as  she  left  them. 
"  I  wonder  if  it  can  be  Leslie.  If  it  is  —  well,  he 
wouldn't  be  flattered  if  he  could  have  seen  the  look  in 
her  eyes." 

Later  on,  he  had  no  trouble  in  gathering  that  it  was 
Leslie  Wrandall  who  called,  but  he  was  very  much  in  the 
dark  as  to  the  meaning  of  that  expressive  look.  He 
only  knew  that  she  was  in  the  telephone  room  for  ten 
minutes  or  longer,  and  that  all  trace  of  emotion  was 
gone  from  her  face  when  she  rejoined  them  with  a  brief 
apology  for  keeping  them  waiting. 

He  left  at  ten-thirty,  saying  good-night  to  them  on 
the  terrace.  Sara  walked  to  the  steps  with  him. 

"  Don't  you  think  her  voice  is  lovely  ?  "  she  asked. 
Hetty  had  sung  for  them. 

"  I  dare  say,"  he  responded  absently.  "  Give  you 
my  word,  though,  I  wasn't  thinking  of  her  voice.  She 
is  lovely." 

He  walked  home  as  if  in  a  dream.  The  spell  was 
on  him. 

Far  in  the  night,  he  started  up  from  the  easy  chair 
in  which  he  had  been  smoking  and  dreaming  and  racking 
his  brain  by  turns. 

"  By  Jove !  "  he  exclaimed  aloud.  "  I  remember !  I've 
got  it !  And  to-morrow  I'll  prove  it." 

Then  he  went  to  bed,  with  the  storm  from  the  sea 
pounding  about  the  house,  and  slept  serenely  until  Pat 
and  Mary  wondered  whether  he  meant  to  get  up  at  all. 

"  Pat,"  said  he  at  breakfast,  "  I  want  you  to  go  to 


HAWKRIGHT'S  MODEL  159 

the  city  this  morning  and  fetch  out  all  of  the  Studios 
you  can  find  about  the  place.  The  old  ones  are  in  that 
Italian  hall  seat  and  the  late  ones  are  in  the  studio. 
Bring  all  of  them." 

"  There's  a  divvil  of  a  bunch  of  thim,"  said  Pat  rue- 
fully. 

He  was  not  to  begin  sketching  the  figure  until  the 
following  day.  After  luncheon,  however,  he  had  an  ap 
pointment  to  inspect  Hetty's  wardrobe,  ostensibly  for 
the  purpose  of  picking  out  a  gown  for  the  picture. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  decided  the  point  to  his  own 
satisfaction  the  night  before.  She  should  pose  for  him 
in  the  dainty  white  dress  she  had  worn  on  that  occasion. 

While  they  were  going  over  the  extensive  assort 
ment  of  gowns,  with  Sara  as  the  judge  from  whom  there 
seemed  to  be  no  appeal,  he  casually  inquired  if  she  had 
ever  posed  before. 

Two  ladies'  maids  were  engaged  in  flinging  the  costly 
garments  about  as  if  they  represented  so  much  rubbish. 
The  floor  was  littered  with  silks  and  satins  and  laces. 
He  was  accustomed  to  this  ruthless  handling  of  exquisite 
fabrics  by  eager  ladies  of  wealth :  it  was  one  way  these 
pampered  women  had  of  showing  their  contempt  for 
possession.  Gowns  came  from  everywhere  by  the  arm 
load  ;  from  closets,  presses  and  trunks,  ultimately  land 
ing  in  a  conglomerate  heap  on  the  floor  when  cast  aside 
as  undesirable  by  the  artist,  the  model  and  the  censor. 

He  watched  her  closely  as  he  put  the  question.  She 
was  holding  up  a  beautiful  point  lace  creation  for  his 
inspection,  and  there  was  a  pleading  smile  on  her  lips. 
It  must  have  been  her  favourite  gown.  The  smile  faded 
away.  The  hand  that  dangled  the  garment  before  his 
eyes  suddenly  became  motionless,  as  if  paralysed.  In 
the  next  instant,  she  recovered  herself,  and,  giving  the 


160          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

lace  a  quick  fillip  that  sent  its  odour  of  sachet  leaping 
to  his  nostrils,  responded  with  perfect  composure. 

"  Isn't  there  a  distinction  between  posing  for  an  ar 
tist,  and  sitting  for  one's  portrait?  "  she  asked. 

He  was  silent.  The  fact  that  he  did  not  respond 
seemed  to  disturb  her  after  a  moment  or  two.  She  made 
the  common  mistake  of  pressing  the  question. 

"  Why  do  you  ask?  "  was  her  inquiry.  When  it  was 
too  late  she  wished  she  had  not  uttered  the  words.  He 
had  caught  the  somewhat  anxious  note  in  her  voice. 

"  We  always  ask  that,  I  think,"  he  said.     "  It's  a 
habit." 
,  "  Oh,"  she  said  doubtfully. 

"  And  by  the  way,  you  haven't  answered." 

She  was  busy  with  the  gown  for  a  time.  At  last  she 
looked  him  full  in  the  face. 

"  That's  true,"  she  agreed ;  "  I  haven't  answered, 
have  I?  No,  Mr.  Booth,  I've  never  posed  for  a  por 
trait.  It  is  a  new  experience  for  me.  You  will  have  to 
contend  with  a  great  deal  of  stupidity  on  my  part.  But 
I  shall  try  to  be  plastic." 

He  uttered  a  polite  protest,  and  pursued  the  question 
no  farther.  Her  answer  had  been  so  palpably  evasive 
that  it  struck  him  as  bald,  even  awkward. 

Pat,  disgruntled  and  irritable  to  the  point  of  pro 
fanity, —  he  was  a  privileged  character  and  might  have 
sworn  if  he  felt  like  it  without  receiving  notice, —  came 
shambling  up  the  cottage  walk  late  that  afternoon, 
bearing  two  large,  shoulder-sagging  bundles.  He  had 
walked  from  the  station, —  a  matter  of  half-a-mile, — 
and  it  was  hot.  His  employer  sat  in  the  shady  porch, 
viewing  his  approach. 

"  Have  you  got  them  ?  "  he  inquired. 

Pat  dropped  the  bundles  on  the  lower  step  and  stared, 


HAWKRIGHT'S  MODEL  161 

speechless.  Then  he  mopped  his  drenched,  turkey-red 
face  with  his  handkerchief.  He  got  his  breath  after  a 
spell  of  contemptuous  snorting. 

"  Have  I  got  what?  "  he  demanded  sarcastically. 
"The  measles?" 

"  The  Studios,  Patrick,"  said  Booth  reprovingly. 

"  No,  sor,"  said  Pat ;  "  I  came  absolutely  empty- 
handed,  as  you  may  have  seen,  sor." 

"  I  knew  I  couldn't  be  mistaken.  I  was  confident  I 
saw  nothing  in  your  hands." 

"  I  kept  thim  closed,  sor,  so's  you  couldn't  see  what 
was  r'ally  in  thim.  I've  been  wid  you  long  enough,  sor, 
to  know  how  you  hate  the  sight  av  blisthers." 

"  They  must  be  quite  a  novelty  to  you,  Patrick.  I 
should  think  you'd  be  proud  of  them." 

"  Where  am  I  to  put  them,  sor?  " 

"The  blisters?" 

"Yis,  sor." 

"  On  this  table,  if  you  please.  And  you  might  cut 
the  strings  while  you're  about  it." 

Pat  put  the  bundles  on  the  wicker  table  and  cut  the 
heavy  twine  in  dignified  silence.  Carefully  rolling  it  up 
in  a  neat  ball,  he  stuck  it  in  his  pocket.  Then  he  faced 
his  employer. 

"  Is  there  annyt'ing  else,  sor?  " 

"  I  think  not,  at  present." 

"Not  aven  a  cup  av  tea,  sor?  " 

"  No,  thanks." 

"  Thin,  if  you  will  excuse  me,  I'll  go  about  me  work. 
I've  had  a  pleasant  day  off,  sor,  thanks  to  ye.  It's 
hard  to  go  back  to  work  afther  such  a  splindid  spell  of 
idleness.  Heigho  !  I'd  like  to  be  a  gintleman  av  leisure 
all  the  time,  that  I  would,  sor.  The  touch  I've  had  av 
it  to-day  may  be  the  sp'iling  av  me.  If  you're  a  smart 


162          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

man,  Mr.  Brandon  Booth,  ye'll  not  be  letting  me  off 
for  a  holiday  like  this  again  very  soon." 

Booth  laughed  outright.  Pat's  face  wrinkled  into  a 
slow,  forgiving  grin. 

"  I  love  you,  Pat,"  cried  the  painter,  "  in  spite  of 
the  way  you  bark  at  me." 

"  It's  a  poor  dog  that  don't  know  his  own  master," 
said  Pat  magnanimously.  "  Whin  you're  t'rough  wid 
the  magazines,  Pll  carry  thim  down  to  the  cellar,  sor." 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  attic?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all,  at  all.  I  was  only  finking  they'd 
be  handier  for  you  to  get  at  in  the  cellar.  And  it's  a 
dom  sight  cooler  down  there." 

With  that  he  departed,  blinking  slyly. 

The  young  man  drew  a  chair  up  to  the  table  and 
began  the  task  of  working  out  the  puzzle  that  now 
seemed  more  or  less  near  to  solution.  He  had  a  pretty 
clear  idea  as  to  the  period  he  wanted  to  investigate.  To 
the  best  of  his  recollection,  the  Studios  published 
three  or  four  years  back  held  the  key.  He  selected 
the  numbers  and  began  to  run  through  them.  One  after 
another  they  were  cast  aside  without  result.  In  any 
other  cause  he  would  have  tired  of  the  quest,  but  in  this 
his  curiosity  was  so  commanding  that  he  stuck  to  the 
task  without  complaint.  He  was  positive  in  his  mind 
that  what  he  desired  was  to  be  found  inside  the  covers 
of  one  of  these  magazines.  He  was  searching  for  a 
vaguely  remembered  article  on  one  of  the  lesser-known 
English  painters  who  had  given  great  promise  at  the 
time  it  was  published  but  who  dropped  completely  out 
of  notice  soon  afterward  because  of  a  mistaken  notion 
of  his  own  importance.  If  Booth's  memory  served  him 
right,  the  fellow  came  a  cropper,  so  to  speak,  in  trying 
to  ride  rough  shod  over  public  opinion,  and  went  to  the 


HAWKRIGHT'S  MODEL  163 

dogs.  He  had  been  painting  sensibly  up  to  that  time,, 
but  suddenly  went  in  for  the  most  violent  style  of  im 
pressionism.  That  was  the  end  of  him. 

There  had  been  reproductions  of  his  principal  can 
vases,  with  sketches  and  studies  in  charcoal.  One  of 
these  pictures  had  made  a  lasting  impression  on  Booth : 
the  figure  of  a  young  woman  in  deep  meditation  stand 
ing  in  the  shadow  of  a  window  casement  from  which 
she  looked  out  upon  the  world  apparently  without  a 
thought  of  it.  A  slender  young  woman  in  vague  reds 
and  browns,  whose  shadowy  face  was  positively,  illu 
minated  by  a  pair  of  wonderful  blue  eyes. 

He  came  upon  it  at  last.  For  a  long  time  he  sat 
there  gazing  at  the  face  of  Hetty  Castleton,  a  look  of 
half-wonder,  half-triumph  in  his  eyes.  There  could 
be  no  doubt  as  to  the  identity  of  the  subject.  The  face 
was  hers,  the  lovely  eyes  were  hers :  the  velvety,  dreamy, 
soulful  eyes  that  had  haunted  him  for  years,  as  he  now 
believed.  In  no  sense  could  the  picture  be  described  as 
a  portrait.  It  was  a  study,  deliberately  arranged  and 
deliberately  posed  for  in  the  artist's  studio.  He  was 
mystified.  Why  should  she,  the  daughter  of  Colonel 
Castleton,  the  grand-niece  of  an  earl,  be  engaged  in 
posing  for  what  evidently  was  meant  to  be  a  commercial 
product  of  this  whilom  artist? 

He  remembered  the  painting  itself  as  he  had  seen 
it  in  the  exhibition  at  the  National  Academy  when  this 
fellow  —  Hawkright  was  his  name  —  was  at  the  top 
of  his  promise  as  a  painter.  He  remembered  going  back 
to  it  again  and  again  and  marvelling  at  the  subtle,  deli 
cate  beauty  of  the  thing.  Now  he  knew  that  it  was  the 
face,  and  not  the  art  of  the  painter  that  had  affected 
him  so  enduringly.  The  fellow  had  shown  other  paint 
ings,  but  he  recalled  that  none  of  them  struck  him  save 


164          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

this  one.  After  all,  it  was  the  face  that  made  the  pic 
ture  memorable. 

Turning  from  this  skilfully  coloured  full  page  re 
production,  he  glanced  at  first  casually  over  the  dozen 
or  more  sketches  and  studies  on  the  succeeding  pages. 
Many  of  them  represented  studies  of  women's  heads  and 
figures,  with  little  or  no  attempt  to  obtain  a  likeness. 
Some  were  half-draped,  showing  in  a  sketchy  way  the 
long  graceful  lines  of  the  half-nude  figure,  of  bare  shoul 
ders  and  breasts,  of  gauze-like  fabrics  that  but  illy 
concealed  impressive  charms.  Suddenly  his  eyes  nar 
rowed  and  a  sharp  exclamation  fell  from  his  lips.  He 
bent  closer  to  the  pages  and  studied  the  drawings  with 
redoubled  interest. 

Then  he  whistled  softly  to  himself,  a  token  of  simple 
amazement.  The  head  of  each  of  these  remarkable 
studies  suggested  in  outline  the  head  and  features  of 
Hetty  Castleton !  She  had  been  Hawkright's  model ! 

The  next  morning  at  ten  he  was  at  Southlook,  ar 
ranging  his  easel  and  canvas  in  the  north  end  of  the 
long  living-room,  where  the  light  from  the  tall  French 
windows  afforded  abundant  and  well-distributed  light 
for  the  enterprise  in  hand.  Hetty  had  not  yet  ap 
peared.  Sara,  attired  in  a  loose  morning  gown,  was 
watching  him  from  a  comfortable  chair  in  the  corner, 
one  shapely  bare  arm  behind  her  head ;  the  free  hand 
was  gracefully  employed  in  managing  a  cigarette.  He 
was  conscious  of  the  fact  that  her  lazy,  half-alert  gaze 
was  upon  him  all  the  time,  although  she  pretended  to  be 
entirely  indifferent  to  the  preparations.  Dimly  he 
could  see  the  faint  smile  of  interest  on  her  lips. 

"  By  Jove,"  he  exclaimed  with  sudden  fervour,  "  I 
wish  I  could  get  you  just  as  you  are,  Mrs.  Wrandall. 


HAWKRIGHT'S  MODEL  165 

Do  you  mind  if  I  sketch  you  in  —  just  to  preserve  the 
pose  for  the  future  — " 

"  Never ! "  she  cried  and  forthwith  changed  her  po 
sition.  She  laughed  at  the  look  of  disappointment  in 
his  face. 

"  You've  no  idea  how  —  er  —  attractive  — "  he  be 
gan  confusedly,  but  broke  off  with  a  laugh.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon.  I  couldn't  help  it." 

"  The  potent  appeal  of  a  cigarette,"  she  surmised 
shrewdly. 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  said  promptly.  He  was  a  bit  red 
in  the  face  as  he  turned  to  busy  himself  with  the  tubes 
and  brushes.  When  he  glanced  at  her  again,  he  found 
that  she  had  resumed  her  former  attitude. 

Hetty  came  in  at  that  moment,  calm,  serene  and  love 
lier  than  ever  in  the  clear  morning  light.  She  was  wear 
ing  the  simple  white  gown  he  had  chosen  the  day  before. 
If  she  was  conscious  of  the  rather  intense  scrutiny  he 
bestowed  upon  her  as  she  gave  him  her  hand  in  greet 
ing,  she  did  not  appear  to  be  in  the  least  disturbed. 

"  You  may  go  away,  Sara,"  she  said  firmly.  "  I 
shall  be  too  dreadfully  self-conscious  if  you  are  looking 
on." 

Booth  looked  at  her  rather  sharply.  Sara  indolently 
abandoned  her  comfortable  chair  and  left  them  alone  in 
the  room. 

"  Shall  we  try  a  few  effects,  Miss  Castleton?  "  he  in 
quired,  after  a  period  of  constraint  that  had  its  effect 
on  both  of  them. 

"  I  am  in  your  hands,"  she  said  simply. 

He  made  suggestions.  She  fell  into  the  positions  so 
easily,  so  naturally,  so  effectively,  that  he  put  aside  all 
previous  doubts  and  blurted  out : 

"  You  have  posed  before,  Miss  Castleton." 


166          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

She  smiled  frankly.  "  But  not  for  a  really  truly 
portrait,"  she  said.  "  Such  as  this  is  to  be." 

He  hesitated  an  instant.  "  I  think  I  recall  a  canvas 
by  Maurice  Hawkright,"  he  said,  and  at  once  experi 
enced  a  curious  sense  of  perturbation.  It  was  not  un 
like  fear. 

Instead  of  betraying  the  confusion  or  surprise  he  ex 
pected,  Miss  Castleton  merely  raised  her  eyebrows  in 
quiringly. 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  me,  Mr.  Booth?"  she 
asked. 

He  laughed  awkwardly. 

"Don't  you  know  his  work?"  he  inquired,  with  a 
slight  twist  of  his  lip. 

"  I  may  have  seen  his  pictures,"  she  replied,  pucker 
ing  her  brow  as  if  in  reflection. 

He  stared  for  a  second. 

"  Why  do  you  look  at  me  in  that  way,  Mr.  Booth?  " 
she  cried,  with  a  nervous  little  laugh. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  —  er  —  that  is,  you  don't 
know  Hawkright's  work?  " 

"  Is  that  so  very  strange  ?  "  she  inquired  plaintively. 

"  By  Jove,"  he  muttered,  quite  taken  aback.  "  I 
don't  understand.  I'm  flabbergasted." 

"  Please  explain  yourself,"  she  said  stiffly. 

"  You  must  have  a  double  somewhere,  Miss  Castle- 
ton,"  said  he,  still  staring.  "  Some  one  who  looks 
enough  like  you  to  be  — " 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  with  a  bright  smile  of  understanding. 
"  I  see !  Yes,  I  have  a  double  —  a  really  remarkable 
double.  Have  you  never  seen  Hetty  Glynn,  the  ac 
tress?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  have  not,"  he  said,  taking  a  long 
breath.  It  was  one  of  relief,  he  remembered  afterward. 


HAWKRIGHT'S  MODEL  167 

"  If  she  is  so  like  you  as  all  that,  I  couldn't  have  for 
gotten  her." 

"  She  is  quite  unknown,  I  believe,"  she  went  on,  ig 
noring  the  implied  compliment.  "  A  chorus-girl,  or 
something  like  that.  They  say  she  is  wonderfully  like 
me  —  or  was,  at  least,  a  few  years  ago." 

He  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  studying  her  face 
and  figure  with  the  critical  eye  of  the  artist.  As  he 
turned  to  the  canvas  with  his  crayon  point,  he  remarked, 
with  an  unmistakable  note  of  relief  in  his  voice : 

"  That  explains  everything.  It  must  have  been 
Hetty  Glynn  who  posed  for  all  those  things  of  Hawk- 
right's." 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  she  indifferently. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  GHOST  AT  THE   FEAST 

THE  next  day  he  appeared  bright  and  early  with  his 
copy  of  the  Studio. 

"  There,"  he  said,  holding  it  before  her  eyes.  She 
took  it  from  his  hands  and  stared  long  and  earnestly 
at  the  reproduction. 

"Do  you  think  it  like  me?"  she  inquired  inno 
cently. 

"  Amazingly  like  you,"  he  declared  with  conviction. 

She  turned  the  page.  He  was  watching  her  closely. 
As  she  looked  upon  the  sketches  of  the  half-nude  figure 
a  warm  blush  covered  her  face  and  neck.  She  did  not 
speak  for  a  full  minute,  and  he  was  positive  that  her 
fingers  tightened  their  grasp  on  the  magazine. 

"  The  same  model,"  he  said  quietly. 

She  nodded  her  head. 

"  Hetty  Glynn,  I  am  sure,"  she  said,  after  a  pause, 
without  lifting  her  eyes.  Her  voice  was  low,  the  words 
not  very  distinct. 

He  drew  a  long  breath,  and  she  looked  up  quickly. 
What  he  saw  in  her  honest  blue  eyes  convicted  her. 

Sara  Wrandall  came  into  the  room  at  that  moment. 
Hetty  hastily  closed  the  magazine  and  held  it  behind 
her.  Booth  had  intended  to  show  the  reproduction 
to  Mrs.  Wrandall,  but  the  girl's  behaviour  caused  him 
to  change  his  mind.  He  felt  that  he  possessed  a  secret 
that  could  not  be  shared  with  Sara  Wrandall,  then  or 
afterward.  Moreover,  he  decided  that  he  would  not  re 
fer  to  the  Hawkright  picture  again  unless  the  girl  her 
self  brought  up  the  subject.  All  this  flashed  through 

168 


THE  GHOST  AT  THE  FEAST  169 

his  mind  as  he  stepped  forward  to  greet  the  new 
comer. 

When  he  turned  again  to  Hetty,  the  magazine  had 
disappeared.  He  never  saw  it  afterward,  and,  what  is 
more  to  the  point,  he  never  asked  her  to  produce  it. 

There  was  a  marked  change  in  Hetty's  manner  after 
that  when  they  were  left  alone  together.  She  seemed 
inert,  distrait  and  at  times  almost  unfriendly.  There 
were  occasions,  however,  when  she  went  to  the  other  ex 
treme  in  trying  to  be  at  ease  with  him.  These  tran 
sitions  were  singularly  marked.  He  could  not  fail  to 
notice  them.  As  for  himself,  he  was  uncomfortable, 
ill-at-ease.  An  obvious  barrier  had  sprung  up  between 
them. 

When  Sara  was  present,  the  girl  seemed  to  be  her  old 
self,  but  at  no  other  time.  Frequently  during  the  sit 
tings  of  the  next  few  days  he  caught  her  looking  at  him 
without  apparently  being  aware  of  the  intensity  of  her 
gaze.  He  had  the  feeling  that  she  was  trying  to  read 
his  thoughts,  but  what  impressed  him  more  than  any 
thing  else  was  the  increasing  look  of  wonder  and  appeal 
that  lurked  in  her  deep,  questioning  eyes.  It  seemed 
almost  as  if  she  were  pleading  for  mercy  with  them. 

He  thought  hard  over  the  situation.  The  obvious 
solution  came  to  him :  she  had  been  at  one  time  reduced 
to  the  necessity  of  posing,  a  circumstance  evidently 
known  to  but  few  and  least  of  all  to  Sara  Wrandall, 
from  whom  the  girl  plainly  meant  to  keep  the  truth. 
This  conviction  distressed  him,  but  not  in  the  way  that 
might  have  been  expected.  He  had  no  scruples  about 
sharing  the  secret  or  in  keeping  it  inviolate ;  his  real 
distress  lay  in  the  fear  that  Mrs.  Wrandall  might  hear 
of  all  this  from  other  and  perhaps  ungentle  sources. 
As  for  her  posing  for  Hawkright,  it  meant  little  or 


170          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

nothing  to  him.  In  his  own  experience,  two  girls  of 
gentle  birth  had  served  as  models  for  pictures  of  his  own 
making,  and  he  fully  appreciated  the  exigencies  that 
had  driven  them  to  it.  One  had  posed  in  the  "  alto 
gether."  She  was  a  girl  of  absolutely  irreproachable 
character,  who  afterwards  married  a  chap  he  knew  very 
well,  and  who  was  fully  aware  of  that  short  phase  in  her 
life.  That  feature  of  the  situation  meant  nothing  to 
him.  He  was  in  no  doubt  concerning  Hetty.  She  was 
what  she  appeared  to  be:  a  gentlewoman. 

He  began  to  experience  a  queer  sense  of  pity  for  her. 
Her  eyes  haunted  him  when  they  were  separated ;  they 
dogged  him  when  they  were  together.  More  than  once 
he  was  moved  to  rush  over  and  take  her  in  his  arms, 
and  implore  her  to  tell  him  all,  to  trust  him  with 
everything.  At  such  times  the  thought  of  holding  the 
slim,  warm,  ineffably  feminine  body  in  his  arms  was 
most  distracting.  He  rather  feared  for  himself.  If 
such  a  thing  were  to  happen, —  and  it  might  happen  if 
the  impulse  seized  him  at  the  psychological  moment  of 
least  resistance, —  the  result  in  all  probability  would 
be  disastrous.  She  would  turn  on  him  like  an  injured 
animal  and  rend  him!  Alas,  for  that  leveller  called 
reason !  It  spoils  many  good  intentions. 

He  admitted  to  himself  that  he  was  under  the  spell 
of  her.  It  was  not  love,  he  was  able  to  contend ;  but 
it  was  a  mysterious  appeal  to  something  within  him 
that  had  never  revealed  itself  before.  He  couldn't 
quite  explain  what  it  was. 

In  his  solitary  hours  at  the  cottage  on  the  upper 
road,  he  was  wont  to  take  his  friend  Leslie  Wrandall 
into  consideration.  As  a  friend,  was  it  not  his  duty 
to  go  to  him  with  his  sordid  little  tale?  Was  it  right 
to  let  Wrandall  go  on  with  his  wooing  when  there  ex- 


THE  GHOST  AT  THE  FEAST  171 

isted  that  which  might  make  all  the  difference  in  the 
world  to  him?  He  invariably  brought  these  delibera 
tions  to  a  close  by  relaxing  into  a  grim  smile  of  amuse 
ment,  as  much  as  to  say :  "  Serve  him  right,  anyway. 
Trust  him  to  sift  her  antecedents  thoroughly.  He's 
already  done  it,  and  he  is  quite  satisfied  with  the  result. 
Serve  them  all  right,  for  that  matter." 

But  then  there  was  Hetty  Glynn.  What  of  her? 
Hetty  Glynn,  real  or  mythical,  was  a  disturbing  factor 
in  his  deductions.  If  there  was  a  real  Hetty  Glynn  and 
she  was  Hetty  Castleton's  double,  what  then? 

On  the  fifth  day  of  a  series  of  rather  prolonged  and 
tedious  sittings,  he  was  obliged  to  confine  his  work  to 
an  hour  and  a  half  in  the  forenoon.  Mrs.  Wrandall 
was  having  a  few  friends  in  for  auction-bridge  immedi 
ately  after  luncheon.  She  asked  him  to  stay  over  and 
take  a  hand,  but  he  declined.  He  did  not  play  bridge. 

Leslie  was  coming  out  on  an  evening  train.  Booth, 
in  commenting  on  this,  again  remarked  a  sharp  change 
in  Hetty's  manner.  They  had  been  conversing  some 
what  buoyantly  up  to  the  moment  he  mentioned  Leslie's 
impending  visit.  In  a  flash  her  manner  changed.  A 
quick  but  unmistakable  frown  succeeded  her  smiles,  and 
for  some  reason  she  suddenly  relapsed  into  a  state  of 
reserve  that  was  little  short  of  sullen.  He  was  puz 
zled,  as  he  had  been  before. 

The  day  was  hot.  Sara  volunteered  to  take  him 
home  in  the  motor.  An  errand  in  the  village  was  the 
excuse  she  gave  for  riding  over  with  him.  Heretofore 
she  had  sent  him  over  alone  with  the  chauffeur. 

She  looked  very  handsome,  very  tempting,  as  she 
came  down  to  the  car. 

"  By  Jove,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  she  is  wonderful ! " 

He  handed  her  into  the  car  with  the  grace  of  a  cour- 


172          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

tier,  and  she  smiled  upon  him  serenely,  as  a  princess 
might  have  smiled  in  the  days  when  knighthood  was  in 
flower. 

When  she  sat  him  down  at  his  little  garden  gate,  he 
put  the  question  that  had  been  seething  in  his  mind  all 
the  way  down  the  shady  stretch  they  had  traversed. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  Hetty  Glynn,  the  English  ac 
tress?" 

Sara  was  always  prepared.  She  knew  the  question 
would  come  when  least  expected. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  replied,  with  interest.  "  Have  you 
noticed  the  resemblance?  They  are  as  like  as  two  peas 
in  a  pod.  Isn't  it  extraordinary?  " 

He  was  a  bit  staggered.  "  I  have  never  seen  Hetty 
Glynn,"  he  replied. 

"  Oh?  You  have  seen  photographs  of  her?  "  she  in 
quired  casually. 

"  What  has  become  of  her?  "  he  asked,  ignoring  her 
question.  "  Is  she  still  on  the  stage  ?  " 

"  Heaven  knows,"  she  replied  lightly.  "  Miss  Cas- 
tleton  and  I  were  speaking  of  her  last  night.  We  were 
together  the  last  time  I  saw  her.  Who  knows?  She 
may  have  married  into  the  nobility  by  this  time.  She 
was  a  very  poor  actress,  but  the  loveliest  thing  in  the 
world  —  excepting  our  Hetty,  of  course." 

If  he  could  have  seen  the  troubled  look  in  her  eyes 
as  she  was  whirled  off  to  the  village,  he  might  not  have 
gone  about  the  cottage  with  such  a  blithesome  air.  He 
was  happier  than  he  had  been  in  days,  and  all  because 
of  Hetty  Glynn ! 

Leslie  Wrandall  did  not  arrive  by  the  evening  train. 
He  telephoned  late  in  the  afternoon,  not  to  Hetty  but 
to  Sara,  to  say  that  he  was  unavoidably  detained  and 
would  not  leave  New  York  until  the  next  morning. 


THE  GHOST  AT  THE  FEAST  173 

Something  in  his  voice,  in  his  manner  of  speaking,  dis 
turbed  her.  She  went  to  bed  that  night  with  two 
sources  of  uneasiness  threatening  her  peace  of  mind. 
She  scented  peril. 

The  motor  met  him  at  the  station  and  Sara  was 
waiting  for  him  in  the  cool,  awning-covered  verandah  as 
he  drove  up.  There  was  a  sullen,  dissatisfied  look  in 
his  face.  She  was  stretched  out  comfortably,  lazily, 
in  a  great  chaise-longue,  her  black  little  slippers  peep 
ing  out  at  him  with  perfect  abandonment. 

"  Hello,"  he  said  shortly.  She  gave  him  her  hand, 
"  Sorry  I  couldn't  get  out  last  night."  He  shook  her 
hand  rather  ungraciously. 

"  We  missed  you,"  she  said.  "  Pull  up  a  chair.  I 
was  never  so  lazy  as  now.  Dear  me,  I  am  afraid  I'll 
get  stout  and  gross." 

"  Spring  fever,"  he  announced.  He  was  plainly  out 
of  sorts.  "  I'll  stand,  if  you  don't  mind.  Beastly 
tiresome,  sitting  in  a  hot,  stuffy  train." 

He  took  a  couple  of  turns  across  the  porch,  his  eyes 
shifting  in  the  eager,  annoyed  manner  of  one  who  seeks 
for  something  that,  in  the  correct  order  of  things,  ought 
to  be  plainly  visible. 

"  Please  sit  down,  Leslie.  You  make  me  nervous, 
tramping  about  like  that.  We  can't  go  in  for  half  an 
hour  or  more." 

"Can't  go  in?  "  he  demanded,  stopping  before  her. 
He  began  to  pull  at  his  little  moustache. 

"  No.  Hetty's  posing.  They  won't  permit  even  me 
to  disturb  them." 

He  glared.  With  a  final,  almost  dramatic  twist  he 
gave  over  jerking  at  his  moustache,  and  grabbed  up  a 
chair,  which  he  put  down  beside  her  with  a  vehemence 
that  spoke  plainer  than  words. 


174.          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  I  say,"  he  began,  scowling  in  the  direction  of  the 
doorway,  "  how  long  is  he  going  to  be  at  this  silly 
job?'; 

"  Silly  job?  Why,  it  is  to  be  a  masterpiece,"  she 
cried. 

"  I  asked  you  how  long?  " 

"  Oh,  how  can  I  tell?  Weeks,  perhaps.  One  can't 
prod  a  genius." 

"  It's  all  tommy-rot,"  he  growled.  "  I  suppose  I'd 
better  take  the  next  train  back  to  town." 

"  Don't  you  like  talking  with  me?  "  she  inquired,  with 
a  pout. 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  he  made  haste  to  say.  "  But  do 
you  mean  to  say  they  won't  let  anybody  in  where  — 
Oh,  I  say !  This  is  rich !  " 

"  Spectators  upset  the  muse,  or  words  to  that  ef 
fect." 

He  stared  gloomily  at  his  cigarette  case  for  a  mo 
ment.  Then  he  carefully  selected  a  cigarette  and 
tapped  it  on  the  back  of  his  hand. 

"  See  here,  Sara,  I'm  going  to  get  this  off  my  chest," 
he  said  bluntly.  "  I've  been  thinking  it  over  all  week. 
I  don't  like  this  portrait  painting  nonsense." 

"Dear  me!  Didn't  you  suggest  it?"  she  inquired 
innocently,  but  all  the  time  her  heart  was  beating  vio 
lent  time  to  the  song  of  triumph. 

He  was  jealous.  It  was  what  she  wanted,  what  she 
had  hoped  for  all  along.  Her  purpose  now  was  to  en 
courage  the  ugly  flame  that  tortured  him,  to  fan  it  into 
fury,  to  make  it  unendurable.  She  knew  him  well:  his 
supreme  egoism  could  not  withstand  an  attack  upon  its 
complacency.  Like  all  the  Wrandalls,  he  had  the  habit 
of  thinking  too  well  of  himself.  He  possessed  a  clearly- 
defined  sense  of  humour,  but  it  did  not  begin  to  include 


THE  GHOST  AT  THE  FEAST  175 

self-sacrifice  among  its  endowments.  He  had  never 
been  able  to  laugh  at  himself  for  the  excellent  reason 
that  some  things  were  truly  sacred  to  him. 

She  realised  this,  and  promptly  laughed  at  him.  He 
stiffened. 

"  Don't  snicker,  Sara,"  he  growled.  He  took  time 
to  light  his  cigarette,  and  at  the  same  time  to  consider 
his  answer  to  her  question.  "  In  a  way,  yes.  I  sug 
gested  a  sort  of  portrait,  of  course.  A  sketchy  thing, 
something  like  that,  you  know.  But  not  an  all-summer 
operation." 

"  But  she  doesn't  mind,"  explained  Sara.  "  In  fact, 
she  is  enjoying  it.  She  and  Mr.  Booth  get  on  famously 
together." 

"  She  likes  him,  eh?  " 

"  Certainly.  Why  shouldn't  she  like  him?  He  is 
adorable." 

He  threw  his  cigarette  over  the  railing.  "  Comes 
here  every  day,  I  suppose?  " 

"  My  dear  Leslie,  he  is  to  do  me  as  soon  as  he  has 
finished  with  her.  I  don't  like  your  manner." 

"  Oh,"  he  said  in  a  dull  sort  of  wonder.  No  one 
had  ever  cut  him  short  in  just  that  way  before. 
"What's  up,  Sara?  Have  I  done  anything  out  of  the 
way?" 

"  You  are  very  touchy,  it  seems  to  me." 

"  I'm  sore  about  this  confounded  portrait  mo 
nopoly." 

"  I'm  sorry,  Leslie.  I  suppose  you  will  have  to  give 
in,  however.  We  are  three  to  one  against  you, — 
Hetty,  Mr.  Booth  and  I." 

"  I  see,"  he  said,  rather  blankly.  Then  he  drew  his 
chair  closer.  "  See  here,  Sara,  you  know  I'm  terribly 
keen  about  her.  I  think  about  her,  I  dream  about  her, 


176          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

I  —  oh,  well,  here  it  is  in  a  nutshell :  I'm  in  love  with 
her.  Now  do  you  understand?  " 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  could  help  being  in  love  with 
her,"  she  said  calmly.  "  I  believe  it  is  a  habit  men 
have  where  she  is  concerned." 

"  You're  not  surprised?  "  he  cried,  himself  surprised. 

"  Not  in  the  least." 

"  I  mean  to  ask  her  to  marry  me,"  he  announced  with 
finality.  This  was  intended  to  bowl  her  over  com 
pletely. 

She  looked  at  him  for  an  instant,  and  then  shook  her 
head.  "  I'd  like  to  be  able  to  wish  you  good  luck." 

He  stared.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say  she'd  be  fool 
enough  — "  he  began  incredulously,  but  caught  himself 
up  in  time.  "  Of  course,  I'd  have  to  take  my  chances," 
he  concluded,  with  more  humility  than  she  had  ever  seen 
him  display.  "  Do  you  know  of  any  one  else?  " 

"  No,"  she  said  seriously.  "  She  doesn't  confide  in 
me  to  that  extent,  I  fear.  I've  never  asked." 

"  Do  you  think  there  was  any  one  back  there  in  Eng 
land?  "  He  put  it  in  the  past  tense,  so  to  speak,  as  if 
there  could  be  no  question  about  the  present. 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say." 

He  was  regaining  his  complacency.  "  That's  neither 
here  nor  there,"  he  declared.  "  The  thing  I  want  you 
to  do,  Sara,  is  to  rush  this  confounded  portrait.  I 
don't  like  the  idea,  not  a  little  bit." 

"  I  don't  blame  you  for  being  afraid  of  the  attractive 
Mr.  Booth,"  she  said,  with  a  significant  lifting  of  her 
eyebrows. 

"  I'm  going  to  have  it  over  with  before  I  go  up  to 
town,  my  dear  girl,"  he  announced,  in  a  matter-of-fact 
way.  "  I've  given  the  whole  situation  a  deuce  of  a  lot 
of  thought,  and  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  do  it.  I'm 


THE  GHOST  AT  THE  FEAST  177 

not  the  sort,  you  know,  to  delay  matters  once  my  mind's 
made  up.  By  Jove,  Sara,  you  ought  to  be  pleased. 
I'm  not  such  a  rotten  catch,  if  I  do  say  it  who 
shouldn't." 

She  was  perfectly  still  for  a  long  time,  so  still  that 
she  did  not  appear  to  be  breathing.  Her  eyes  grew 
darker,  more  mysterious.  If  he  had  taken  the  pains  to 
notice,  he  would  have  seen  that  her  fingers  were  rigid. 

"  I  am  pleased,"  she  said,  very  softly,  even  gently. 

She  could  have  shrieked  the  words. 

He  showed  no  elation.  Why  should  he?  He  took 
it  as  a  matter  of  course.  Settling  back  in  his  chair, 
he  lit  another  cigarette,  first  offering  the  case  to  her, 
but  she  shook  her  head.  Then  he  lapsed  into  a  satis 
fied  discussion  of  the  situation  as  it  appeared  to  him. 
All  the  while  she  was  regarding  him  with  a  thoroughly 
aroused  light  in  her  dark  eyes.  She  was  breathing 
quickly  again,  and  there  were  moments  when  she  felt  a 
shudder  rush  through  her  veins,  as  of  exquisite  excite 
ment. 

How  she  hated  all  these  smug  Wrandalls  ! 

"  I  came  to  the  decision  yesterday,"  he  went  on,  tap 
ping  the  arm  of  the  chair  with  his  finger  tips,  as  if  tim 
ing  his  words  with  care  and  precision.  "  Spoke  to  dad 
about  it  at  lunch.  I  was  for  coming  out  on  the  five 
o'clock,  as  I'd  planned,  but  he  seemed  to  think  I'd  better 
talk  it  over  with  the  mater  first.  Not  that  she  would 
be  likely  to  kick  up  a  row,  you  know,  but  —  well,  for 
policy's  sake.  See  what  I  mean?  Decent  thing  to  do, 
you  know.  She  never  quite  got  over  the  way  you  and 
Chal  stole  a  march  on  her.  God  knows  I'm  not  like 
Chal." 

Her  eyes  narrowed  again.  "  No,"  she  said,  "  you 
are  not  like  your  brother." 


178          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  Chal  was  all  right,  mind  you,  in  what  he  did,"  he 
added  hastily,  noting  the  look.  "  I  would  do  the  same, 
'pon  my  soul  I  would,  if  there  were  any  senseless  objec 
tions  raised  in  my  case.  But,  of  course,  it  teas  right 
for  me  to  talk  it  over  with  her,  just  the  same.  So  I 
stayed  in  and  gave  them  all  the  chance  to  say  what  they 
thought  of  me  —  and,  incidentally,  of  Hetty.  Quite 
the  decent  thing,  don't  you  think?  A  fellow's  mother 
is  his  mother,  after  all.  See  what  I  mean?" 

"  And  she  was  appeased?  "  she  said,  in  a  dangerously 
satirical  tone. 

"  Hardly  the  word,  old  girl,  but  we'll  let  it  stand. 
She  was  appeased.  Wanted  to  be  sure,  of  course,  if 
I  knew  my  own  mind,  and  all  that.  Just  as  if  I  didn't ! 
Ha !  Ha !  I  was  considerate  enough  to  ask  her  if  she 
was  satisfied  I  wasn't  marrying  beneath  the  family  dig 
nity.  'Gad,  she  got  off  a  rather  neat  one  at  that. 
Said  I  might  marry  under  the  family  tree  if  I  felt  like 
it.  Rather  good,  eh,  for  mother?  I  said  I  preferred 
a  church.  Nothing  al  fresco  for  me." 

"  She  is  quite  satisfied,  then,  that  you  are  not  throw 
ing  yourself  away  on  Miss  Castleton,"  said  Sara,  with 
a  deep  breath,  which  he  mistook  for  a  sigh. 

"  Oh,  trust  mother  to  nose  into  things.  She  knows 
Miss  Castleton's  pedigree  from  the  ground  up.  There's 
Debrett,  you  see.  What's  more,  you  can't  fool  her  in 
a  pinch.  She  knows  blood  when  she  sees  it.  Father 
hasn't  the  same  sense  of  proportion,  however.  He  says 
you  never  can  tell." 

Sara  was  startled.     "What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing  to  speak  of ;  only  a  way  he  has  of 
grinding  mother  once  in  a  while.  He  uses  you  as  an 
example  to  prove  that  you  never  can  tell,  and  mother 
has  to  admit  that  he's  right.  You  have  upset  every 


THE  GHOST  AT  THE  FEAST  179 

one  of  her  pet  theories.      She  sees  it  now,  but  —  whew  1 
She  couldn't  see  it  in  the  old  days,  could  she?  " 

"  I  fear  not,"  said  she  in  a  low  voice.  Her  eyes 
smouldered.  "  It  is  quite  natural  that  she  should  not 
want  you  to  make  the  mistake  your  brother  made." 

"  Oh,  please  don't  put  it  that  way,  Sara.  You  make 
me  feel  like  a  confounded  prig,  because  that's  what  it 
comes  to,  with  them,  don't  you  know.  And  yet  my  at 
titude  has  always  been  clear  to  them  where  you're  con 
cerned.  I  was  strong  for  you  from  the  beginning.  All 
that  silly  rot  about  — " 

"  Please,  please !  "  she  burst  out,  quivering  all  over. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  stammered.     "  You  —  you 
know  how  I  mean  it,  dear  girl." 

"  Please  leave  me  out  of  it,  Leslie,"  she  said,  collect 
ing  herself.  After  a  moment  she  went  on  calmly: 
"  And  so  you  are  going  to  marry  my  poor  little  Hetty, 
and  they  are  all  pleased  with  the  arrangement." 

"  If  she'll  have  me,"  he  said  with  a  wink,  as  if  to  say 
there  wasn't  any  use  doubting  it.  "  They're  tickled  to 
death." 

"Vivian?" 

"  Viv's   a   snob.      She  says   Hetty's  mucn  too  good 
for  me,  blood  and  bone.     What  business,  says  she,  has 
a  Wrandall  aspiring  to  the  descendant  of  Henry  the 
Eighth." 
"  What !  " 

"  The  Murgatroyds  go  back  to  old  Henry,  straight 
as  a  plummet.  'Gad,  what  Vivvy  doesn't  know  about 
British  aristocracy  isn't  worth  knowing.  She  looked 
it  up  the  time  they  tried  to  convince  her  she  ought  to 
marry  the  duke.  But  she's  fond  of  Hetty.  She  says 
she's  a  darling.  She's  right:  Hetty  is  too  good  for 
me." 


180          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

Sara  swished  her  gown  about  and  rose  gracefully 
from  the  chaise-longue.  Extending  her  hand  to  him  she 
said,  and  he  was  never  to  forget  the  deep  thrill  in  her 
voice : 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  good  luck,  Leslie.  Don't  take  no 
for  an  answer." 

"  Lord,  if  she  should  say  no,"  he  gasped,  confronted 
by  the  possibility  of  such  stupidity  on  Hetty's  part. 
"  You  don't  think  she  will?  " 

Her  answer  was  a  smile  of  doubt,  the  effect  of  which 
was  to  destroy  his  tranquillity  for  hours. 

"  It  is  time  for  luncheon.  I  suppose  we'll  have  to 
interrupt  them.  Perhaps  it  is  just  as  well,  for  your 
sake,"  she  said  tauntingly. 

He  grinned,  but  it  was  a  sickly  effort. 
"  You're  the  one  to  spoil  anything  of  that  sort,"  he 
said,  with  some  ascerbity. 
"  I  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  he  said  with  so  much  meaning  in  the 
word  that  she  flushed. 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  she  mused,  with  understanding.  "  Can't 
you  trust  Vivian  to  do  that  for  you?  "  There  was  in 
tense  irony  in  the  question. 

He  laughed  disdainfully.  "  Viwy  wouldn't  stand 
a  ghost  of  a  chance  with  you,  take  it  from  me."  He 
stopped  abruptly  at  the  doorway,  a  frown  of  recollec 
tion  creasing  his  seamless  brow.  "  Oh,  that  reminds 
me,  there  is  something  else  I  want  to  discuss  with  you, 
Sara.  After  luncheon  will  be  time  enough.  Remind 
me  of  it,  will  you?  " 

"  Not  if  it  is  to  be  unpleasant,"  she  replied,  with  a 
sudden  chill  in  her  heart. 

"  It's  this,  in  a  word :  Viv  would  like  to  have  Miss 
Castleton  over  to  spend  a  month  or  so  with  her  after 


THE  GHOST  AT  THE  FEAST  181 

the  —  well,  after  the  house  is  open."  He  came  near 
to  saying  after  the  engagement  was  announced. 

Sara's  decision  was  made  at  once.  Her  face  hard 
ened. 

"  That  is  quite  out  of  the  question,  Leslie,"  she  said. 

"  We  can  discuss  it,  can't  we?  "  he  demanded  loftily. 

She  did  not  condescend  to  reply.  They  were  now  in 
the  wide  hallway,  and  she  was  a  step  or  two  ahead  of 
him.  Voices  could  be  heard  in  the  recess  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  hall,  beyond  the  staircase,  engaged  in  what 
appeared  to  be  a  merry  exchange  of  opinions.  He 
caught  the  sound  of  a  low  laugh  from  Booth.  There 
was  something  acutely  subdued  about  it,  as  if  a  warn 
ing  had  been  whispered  by  some  one.  Leslie's  sensitive 
imagination  pictured  the  unseen  girl  with  her  finger  to 
her  lips. 

He  caught  up  with  Sara,  and,  curiously  red  in  the 
face,  snapped  out  with  dogged  insistence : 

"  Mother  is  set  on  having  her  come,  Sara.  Can't 
you  see  the  way  the  land  lays?  They — ' 

Hetty  and  Booth  came  into  view  at  that  instant,  and 
his  lips  were  closed.  The  painter  was  laying  a  soft, 
filmy  scarf  over  the  girl's  bare  shoulders  as  he  followed 
close  behind  her. 

"  Hello ! "  he  cried,  catching  sight  of  Wrandall. 
"  Train  late,  old  chap?  We've  been  expecting  you  for 
the  last  hour.  How  are  you  ?  " 

He  came  up  with  a  frank,  genuine  smile  of  pleasure 
on  his  lips,  his  hand  extended.  Leslie  rose  to  the  occa 
sion.  His  self-esteem  was  larger  than  his  grievance. 
He  shook  Booth's  hand  heartily,  almost  exuberantly. 

"  Didn't  want  to  disturb  you,  Brandy,"  he  cried, 
cheerily.  "  Besides,  Sara  wouldn't  let  me."  He  then 
passed  on  to  Hetty,  who  had  lagged  behind.  Bending 


182          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

low  over  her  hand,  he  said  something  commonplace  in 
a  very  low  tone,  at  the  same  time  looking  slyly  out  of 
the  corner  of  his  eye  to  see  if  Booth  was  taking  it  all  in. 
Finding  that  his  friend  was  regarding  him  rather  fix 
edly,  he  obeyed  a  sudden  impulse  and  raised  the  girl's 
slim  hand  to  his  lips.  As  suddenly  he  released  her 
fingers  and  straightened  up  with  a  look  of  surprise  in 
his  eyes ;  he  had  distinctly  heard  the  agitated  catch  in 
her  throat.  She  was  staring  at  her  hand  in  a  stupefied 
sort  of  way,  holding  it  rigid  before  her  eyes  for  a  mo 
ment  before  thrusting  it  behind  her  back  as  if  it  were 
a  thing  to  be  shielded  from  all  scrutiny  save  her  own. 

"  You  must  not  kiss  it  again,  Mr.  Wrandall,"  she 
said  in  a  low,  intense  voice.  Then  she  passed  him  by 
and  hurried  up  the  stairs,  without  so  much  as  a  glance 
over  her  shoulder. 

He  blinked  in  astonishment.  All  of  a  sudden  there 
swept  over  him  the  unique  sensation  of  shyness  —  most 
unique  in  him.  He  had  never  been  abashed  before  in  all 
his  life.  Now  he  was  curiously  conscious  of  having 
overstepped  the  bounds,  and  for  the  first  time  to  be 
shown  his  place  by  a  girl.  This  to  him,  who  had  no 
scruples  about  boundary  lines  ! 

All  through  luncheon  he  was  volatile  and  gay. 
There  was  a  bright  spot  in  his  cheek,  however,  that  be 
trayed  him  to  Sara,  who  already  suspected  the  temper 
of  his  thoughts.  He  talked  aeroplaning  without  ces 
sation,  directing  most  of  his  conversation  to  Booth,  yet 
thrilled  with  pleasure  each  time  Hetty  laughed  at  his 
sallies.  He  was  beginning  to  feel  like  a  half-baked 
schoolboy  in  her  pVesence,  a  most  deplorable  state  of 
affairs  he  had  to  admit. 

"  If  you  hate  the  trains  so  much,  and  your  automo 
bile  is  out  of  whack,  why  don't  you  try  volplaning  down 


THE  GHOST  AT  THE  FEAST 

from  the  Metropolitan  tower?  "  demanded  Booth  in  re 
sponse  to  his  lugubrious  wail  against  the  beastly  luck 
of  having  to  go  about  in  railway  coaches  with  a  lot  of 
red-eyed,  nose-blowing  people  who  hadn't  got  used  to 
their  spring  underwear  as  yet. 

"  Sinister  suggestion,  I  must  say,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  You  must  be  eager  to  see  my  life  blood  scattered  all 
over  creation.  But,  speaking  of  volplaning,  I've  had 
three  lessons  this  week.  Next  week  Bronson  says  I'll 
be  flying  like  a  gull.  'Gad,  it's  wonderful.  I've  had 
two  tumbles,  that's  all, —  little  ones,  of  course, —  net 
result  a  barked  knee  and  a  peeled  elbow." 

"  Watch  out  you're  not  flying  like  an  angel  before 
you  get  through  with  it,  Les,"  cautioned  the  painter. 
"  I  see  that  a  well-known  society  leader  in  Chicago  was 
killed  yesterday." 

"  Oh,  I  love  the  danger  there  is  in  it,"  said  Wrandall 
carelessly.  "  That's  what  gives  zest  to  the  sport." 

"  I  love  it,  too,"  said  Hetty,  her  eyes  a-gleam.  "  The 
glorious  feel  of  the  wind  as  you  rush  through  it !  And 
yet  one  seems  to  be  standing  perfectly  still  in  the  air 
when  one  is  half  a  mile  high  and  going  fifty  miles  an 
hour.  Oh,  it  is  wonderful,  Mr.  Wrandall." 

"  I'll  take  you  out  in  a  week  or  two,  Miss  Castleton, 
if  you'll  trust  yourself  with  me." 

"  I  will  go,"  she  announced  promptly. 

Booth  frowned.  "  Better  wait  a  bit,"  he  counselled. 
"  Risky  business,  Miss  Castleton,  flying  about  with 
fledgelings." 

"  Oh,  come  now  1 "  expostulated  Wrandall  with  some 
heat.  "  Don't  be  a  wet  blanket,  o]J  man." 

"  I  was  merely  suggesting  she'd  better  wait  till  you've 
got  used  to  your  wings." 

"  Jimmy  Van  Wickle  took  his  wife  with  him  the  third 


184.          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

time  up,"  said  Leslie,  as  if  that  were  the  last  word  in 
aeroplaning. 

"  It's  common  report  that  she  keeps  Jimmy  level,  no 
matter  where  she's  got  him,"  retorted  Booth. 

"  I  dare  say  Miss  Castleton  can  hold  me  level,"  said 
Leslie,  with  a  profound  bow  to  her.  "  Can't  you,  Miss 
Castleton?" 

She  smiled.  "  Oh,  as  for  that,  Mr.  Wrandall,  I 
think  we  can  all  trust  you  to  cling  pretty  closely  to 
jour  own  level." 

"  Rather  ambiguous,  that,"  he  remarked  dubiously. 

"  She  means  you  never  get  below  it,  Leslie,"  said 
Booth,  enjoying  himself. 

"  That's  the  one  great  principle  in  aeroplaning," 
said  Wrandall,  quick  to  recover.  "  Vivian  says  I'll 
break  my  neck  some  day,  but  admits  it  will  be  a  heroic 
way  of  doing  it.  Much  nobler  than  pitching  out  of  an 
automobile  or  catapulting  over  a  horse's  head  in  Cen 
tral  Park."  He  paused  for  effect  before  venturing 
his  next  conclusion.  "  It  must  be  ineffably  sublime, 
being  squashed  —  or  is  it  squshed? — after  a  drop  of  a 
mile  or  two,  isn't  it?  " 

He  looked  to  see  Miss  Castleton  wince,  and  was 
somewhat  dashed  to  find  that  she  was  looking  out  of  the 
window,  quite  oblivious  to  the  peril  he  was  in  figura 
tively  for  her  special  consideration. 

Booth  was  acutely  reminded  that  the  term  "  prig  " 
as  applied  to  Leslie  was  a  misnomer ;  he  hated  the 
thought  of  the  other  word,  which  reflectively  he  rhymed 
with  "  pad." 

It  occurred  to  him  early  in  the  course  of  this  rather 
one-sided  discussion  that  their  hostess  was  making  no 
effort  to  take  part  in  it,  whether  from  lack  of  interest 
or  because  of  its  frivolous  nature  he  was,  of  course,  un- 


THE  GHOST  AT  THE  FEAST  185 

able  to  determine.  Later,  he  was  struck  by  the  curious 
pallor  of  her  face,  and  the  lack-lustre  expression  of 
her  eyes.  She  seldom  removed  her  gaze  from  Wran- 
dall's  face,  and  yet  there  persisted  in  the  observer's  mind 
the  rather  uncanny  impression  that  she  did  not  hear  a 
word  her  brother-in-law  was  saying.  He,  in  turn,  took 
to  watching  her  covertly.  At  no  time  did  her  expres 
sion  change.  For  reasons  of  his  own,  he  did  not  at 
tempt  to  draw  her  into  the  conversation,  fascinated  as 
he  was  by  the  study  of  that  beautiful,  emotionless  face. 
Once  he  had  the  queer  sensation  of  feeling,  rather  than 
seeing,  a  haunted  look  in  her  eyes,  but  he  put  it  down  to 
fancy  on  his  part.  Doubtless,  he  concluded,  the  face  or 
voice  or  manner  of  her  husband's  brother  recalled  tragic 
memories  from  which  she  could  not  disengage  herself. 
But  undoubtedly  there  was  something  peculiar  in  the 
way  she  looked  at  Leslie  through  those  dull,  unblinking 
eyes.  It  was  some  time  before  Booth  realised  that  she 
made  but  the  slightest  pretence  of  touching  the  food 
that  was  placed  before  her  by  the  footman. 

And  Leslie  babbled  on  in  blissful  ignorance  of,  not 
to  say  disregard  for,  this  strange  ghost  at  the  feast, 
for,  to  Booth's  mind,  the  ghost  of  Challis  Wrandall  was 
there. 

Turning  to  Miss  Castleton  with  a  significant  look  in 
his  eyes,  meant  to  call  her  attention  to  Mrs.  Wrandall, 
he  was  amazed  to  find  that  every  vestige  of  colour  had 
gone  from  the  girl's  face.  She  was  listening  to  Wran 
dall  and  replying  in  monosyllables,  but  that  she  was 
aware  of  the  other  woman's  abstraction  was  not  for  an 
instant  to  be  doubted.  Suddenly,  after  a  quick  glance 
at  Sara's  face,  she  looked  squarely  into  Booth's  eyes, 
and  he  saw  in  hers  an  expression  of  actual  concern,  if 
not  alarm. 


186          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

Leslie  was  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  when  Sara 
laughed  aloud,  without  excuse  or  reason.  The  next 
instant  she  was  looking  from  one  to  the  other  in  a  dazed 
sort  of  way,  as  if  coming  out  of  a  dream. 

Wrandall  turned  scarlet.  There  had  been  nothing 
in  his  remarks  to  call  for  a  laugh,  he  was  quite  sure  of 
that.  Flushing  slightly,  she  murmured  something  about 
having  thought  of  an  amusing  story,  and  begged  him  to 
go  on,  she  wouldn't  be  rude  again. 

He  had  little  zest  for  continuing  the  subject  and  sul 
lenly  disposed  of  it  in  a  word  or  two. 

"What  the  devil  was  there  to  laugh  at,  Brandy?  " 
he  demanded  of  his  friend  after  the  women  had  left  them 
together  on  the  porch  a  few  minutes  later.  Hetty  had 
gone  upstairs  with  Mrs.  Wrandall,  her  arm  clasped 
tightly  about  the  older  woman's  waist. 

"  I  dare  say  she  was  thinking  about  you  falling  a 
mile  or  two,"  said  Booth  pleasantly. 

But  he  was  perplexed. 


CHAPTER   XI 

MAN   PROPOSES 

THE  young  men  cooled  their  heels  for  an  hour  before 
word  was  brought  down  to  them  that  Mrs.  Wrandall 
begged  to  be  excused  for  the  afternoon  on  account  of  a 
severe  headache.  Miss  Castleton  was  with  her,  but 
would  be  down  later  on.  Meanwhile  they  were  to  make 
themselves  at  home,  and  so  on  and  so  forth. 

Booth  took  his  departure,  leaving  Leslie  in  sole  pos 
session  of  the  porch.  He  was  restless,  nervous,  excited ; 
half-afraid  to  stay  there  and  face  Hetty  with  the  pro 
posal  he  was  determined  to  make,  and  wholly  afraid  to 
forsake  the  porch  and  run  the  risk  of  missing  her  alto 
gether  if  she  came  down  as  signified.  Several  things 
disturbed  him.  One  was  Hetty's  deplorable  failure  to 
hang  on  his  words  as  he  had  fondly  expected  her  to  do ; 
and  then  there  was  that  very  disquieting  laugh  of 
Sara's.  A  hundred  times  over  he  repeated  to  himself 
that  sickening  question :  "  What  the  devil  was  there  to 
laugh  at  ?  "  and  no  answer  suggested  itself.  He  was 
decidedly  cross  about  it. 

Another  hour  passed.  His  heels  were  quite  cool  by 
this  time,  but  his  blood  was  boiling.  This  was  a  deuce 
of  a  way  to  treat  a  fellow  who  had  gone  to  the  trouble 
to  come  all  the  way  out  in  a  stuffy  train,  by  Jove,  it 
was  !  With  considerable  asperity  he  rang  for  a  servant 
and  commanded  him  to  fetch  a  time  table,  and  to  be 
quick  about  it,  as  there  might  be  a  train  leaving  before 
he  could  get  back  if  it  took  him  as  long  to  find  it  as  it 
took  other  people  to  remember  their  obligations !  His 
sarcasm  failed  to  impress  Murray,  who  said  he  thought 

187 


188          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

there  was  a  schedule  in  Mrs.  Wrandall's  room,  and  he'd 
get  it  as  soon  as  the  way  was  clear,  if  Mr.  Wrandall 
didn't  mind  waiting. 

"  If  I  minded  waiting,"  snapped  Leslie,  "  I  wouldn't 
be  here  now." 

"  It's  the  thing  most  people  object  to  in  the  country, 
sir,"  said  Murray  consolingly.  "  Waiting  for  trains, 

«**% 

"  And  the  sunset,"  added  Mr.  Wrandall  pointedly, 
with  a  westward  glare. 

"We  don't  mind  that,  sir.  We  rather  look  forward 
to  it.1  It  means  one  day  less  of  waiting  for  the  trains." 
It  was 'rather  cryptic,  but  Leslie  was  too  deeply  ab 
sorbed  in  self-pity  to  take  account  of  the  pathos  in 
Murray's  philosophy. 

"  What  time  is  it,  Murray?  " 

"  Five-twenty,  Mr.  Wrandall." 

"  That's  all,  Murray." 

"  Thank  you,  sir." 

[As  the  footman  was  leaving,  Sara's  automobile 
whirled  up  to  the  porte-cochere. 

"  Who  is  going  out,  Murray?  "  he  called  in  surprise. 

"  Miss  Castleton,  sir.     For  the  air,  sir." 

"  The  deuce  you  say ! "  gasped  the  harassed  Mr. 
Wrandall.  It  was  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish ! 

Hetty  appeared  a  few  minutes  later,  attired  for  mo 
toring. 

"  Oh,  there  you  are,"  she  said,  espying  him.  "  I  am 
going  for  a  spin.  Want  to  come  along?  " 

He  swallowed  hard.  The  ends  of  his  moustache  de 
scribed  a  pair  of  absolutely  horizontal  exclamation 
points.  "  If  you  don't  mind  being  encumbered,"  he  re 
marked  sourly. 

"  I  don't  in  the  least  mind,"  said  she  sweetly. 


MAN  PROPOSES  189 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  he  asked  without  much  en 
thusiasm.  He  wasn't  to  be  caught  appearing  eager, 
not  he.  Besides,  it  wasn't  anything  to  be  flippant 
about. 

"  Yonder,"  she  said,  with  a  liberal  sweep  of  her  arm, 
taking  in  the  whole  landscape.  "  And  be  home  in  time 
to  dress  for  dinner,"  she  added,  as  if  to  relieve  his 
mind. 

"  Good  Lord ! "  he  groaned,  "  do  we  have  to  eat 
again?  " 

"  We  have  to  dress  for  it,  at  least,"  she  replied. 

"  I'll  go,"  he  exclaimed,  and  ambled  off  to  secure  a 
cap  and  coat. 

"  Sara  has  planned  for  a  run  to  Lenox  to-morrow  if 
it  doesn't  rain,"  she  informed  him  on  his  return. 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  staring.  "  Booth  gets  a  day  off  on 
the  portrait  then." 

"  Being  Sunday,"  she  smiled.  "  We  knock  off  on 
Sundays  and  bank  holidays.  But,  after  all,  he  doesn't 
really  get  a  holiday.  He  is  to  go  with  us,  poor  fellow." 

He  looked  as  though  he  expected  nothing.  He  could 
only  sit  back  and  wonder  what  the  deuce  Sara  meant 
by  behaving  like  this. 

It  was  not  by  way  of  being  a  profitable  excursion,  if 
we  are  to  judge  by  the  amount  of  pleasure  Leslie  de 
rived  from  the  two  hours'  spin  through  the  cool,  leafy 
byways  of  the  forest  with  the  object  of  his  heart's  desire 
on  the  seat  beside  him.  He  tried  to  screw  up  his  cour 
age  to  the  point  of  asking  her  why  he  shouldn't  kiss  her 
hand,  which  might  have  opened  the  way  to  more  pro 
found  interrogations,  but  somehow  he  felt  unable  to 
cope  with  the  serenity  that  confronted  him.  Moreover, 
he  had  a  horrible  conviction  that  the  chauffeur  was  a 
brute  with  abnormally  long  ears  and  a  correspondingly 


190          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

short  sense  of  honour.  No,  it  was  not  the  time  or  the 
place  for  love-making.  He  would  have  to  be  content 
to  bide  his  time  till  after  dinner,  which  now  began  to 
lose  some  of  its  disadvantages.  There  was  a  most  en 
gaging  nook,  he  remembered,  in  the  corner  of  the  gar 
den  facing  the  Sound,  where  the  shadows  were  deep; 
where  sentiment  could  thrive  on  its  own  ecstasy ;  where 
no  confounded  menial  dared  to  show  his  face  —  al 
though  he  had  to  admit  that  the  chauffeur  was  most 
punctilious  in  that  respect. 

And  so  he  was  satisfied  to  sit  back  in  the  corner  of 
the  seat  and  feed  his  senses  on  the  lovely  creature  be 
fore  him.  He  had  never  seen  her  so  beautiful,  so  ut 
terly  worth  having  as  now.  He  was  conscious  of  a 
great,  overwhelming  sense  of  pride,  somewhat  smother 
ing  in  its  vastness.  She  was  a  creature  to  be  proud  of ! 
His  heart  was  very  full. 

They  returned  at  seven.  Dinner  was  unusually 
merry.  Sara  appeared  to  have  recovered  from  her  in 
disposition ;  there  was  colour  in  her  cheeks  and  life  in 
her  smile.  He  took  it  to  be  an  omen  of  good  fortune, 
and  was  immeasurably  confident.  The  soft  cool  breezes 
of  the  star-lit  night  blew  visions  of  impending  happiness 
across  his  lively  imagination ;  fanned  his  impatience 
with  gentle  ardour;  filled  him  with  surpressed  sighs  of 
contentment,  and  made  him  willing  to  forego  the  delight 
of  conquest  that  he  might  live  the  longer  in  serene  an 
ticipation  of  its  thrills. 

Ten  o'clock  came.  He  arose  and  stretched  himself 
in  a  sort  of  ecstasy.  His  heart  was  thumping  loudly, 
his  senses  swam.  Walking  to  the  verandah  rail  he 
looked  out  across  the  moonlit  Sound,  then  down  at  the 
selected  nook  over  against  the  garden  wall  —  spot  to  be 
immortalised ! —  and  actually  shivered.  In  ten  minutes' 


MAN  PROPOSES  191 

time,  or  even  less,  she  would  be  down  there  in  his  arms ! 
Exquisite  meditations ! 

He  turned  to  her  with  an  engaging  smile,  in  which 
she  might  have  discerned  a  prophecy,  and  asked  her  to 
come  with  him  for  a  stroll  along  the  wall.  And  so  he 
cast  the  die. 

Hetty  sent  a  swift,  appealing  look  at  Sara's  pur 
posely  averted  face.  Leslie  observed  the  act,  but  mis 
interpreted  its  meaning. 

"  Oh,  it  is  quite  warm,"  he  said  quickly.  "  You 
won't  need  a  wrap,"  he  added,  and  in  spite  of  himself 
his  voice  trembled.  Of  course  she  wouldn't  need  a 
wrap! 

"  I  have  a  few  notes  to  write,"  said  Sara,  rising. 
She  deliberately  avoided  the  look  in  Hetty's  eyes. 
"  You  will  find  me  in  the  library." 

She  stood  in  the  doorway  and  watched  them  descend 
to  the  terrace,  a  sphinx-like  smile  on  her  lips.  Hetty 
seemed  very  tall  and  erect,  as  one  going  to  meet  a  sol 
dier's  fate. 

Then  Sara  entered  the  house  and  sat  down  to  wait. 

A  long  time  after  a  door  closed  stealthily  in  a  dis 
tant  part  of  the  house  —  the  sun-parlour  door,  she  knew 
by  direction. 

A  few  minutes  later  an  upstairs  door  creaked  on 
its  hinges.  Some  one  had  come  in  from  the  mellow 
night,  and  some  one  had  been  left  outside. 

Many  minutes  passed.  She  sat  there  at  her  father's 
writing  table  and  waited  for  the  other  to  come  in.  At 
last  quick,  heavy  footfalls  sounded  on  the  tiled  floor 
outside  and  then  came  swiftly  down  the  hall  toward  the 
small,  remote  room  in  which  she  sat.  She  looked  up  as 
he  unceremoniously  burst  into  the  room. 

He  came  across  and  stood  over  her,  an  expression  of 


192          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

utter  bewilderment  in  his  eyes.     There  was  a  ghastly 
smile  on  his  lips. 

"  Damn  it  all,  Sara,"  he  said  shrilly,  "  she  —  she 
turned  me  down." 

He  seemed  incapable  of  comprehension. 

She  was  unmoved.  Her  eyes  narrowed,  but  that  was 
the  only  sign  of  emotion. 

"  I  —  I  can't  believe  — "  he  began  querulously. 
"  Oh,  what's  the  use?  She  won't  have  me.  'Gad !  I'm 
trembling  like  a  leaf.  Where's  Watson?  Have  him 
get  me  something  to  drink.  Never  mind !  I'll  get  it 
from  the  sideboard.  I'm  —  I'm  damned !  " 

He  dropped  heavily  into  a  chair  at  the  end  of  the 
table  and  looked  at  her  with  glazed  eyes.  As  she  stared 
back  at  him  she  had  the  curious  feeling  that  he  had 
shrunk  perceptibly,  that  his  clothes  hung  rather  limply 
on  him.  His  face  seemd  to  have  lost  all  of  its  smart 
symmetry;  there  was  a  looseness  about  the  mouth  and 
chin  that  had  never  been  there  before.  The  saucy,  ar 
rogant  moustache  sloped  dejectedly. 

"  I  fancy  you  must  have  gone  about  it  very  badly," 
she  said,  pursing  her  lips. 

"Badly?"  he  gasped.  "Why  —  why,  good  heav 
ens,  Sara,  I  actually  pleaded  with  her,"  he  went  on, 
'  quite  pathetically.  "  All  but  got  down  on  my  knees 
to  her.  Damn  me,  if  I  can  understand  myself  doing  it 
either.  I  must  have  lost  my  head  completely.  Begged 
like  a  love-sick  school-boy !  And  she  kept  on  saying 
no  —  no  —  no !  And  I,  like  a  blithering  ass,  kept  on 
telling  her  I  couldn't  live  without  her,  that  I'd  make  her 
happy,  that  she  didn't  know  what  she  was  saying,  and 
—  But,  good  Lord,  she  kept  on  saying  no !  Nothing 
but  no!  Do  —  do  you  think  she  meant  to  say  no? 
Could  it  have  been  hysteria?  She  said  it  so  often,  over 


MAN  PROPOSES  193 

and  over  again,  that  it  might  have  been  hysteria.  I 
never  thought  of  that.  I  — " 

"  No,  Leslie,  it  wasn't  hysteria,  you  may  be  sure  of 
that,"  she  said  deliberately.  "  She  meant  it,  old  fel 
low." 

He  sagged  deeper  in  the  chair. 

"I  —  I  can't  get  it  through  my  head,"  he  muttered. 

"  As  I  said  before,  you  did  it  badly,"  she  said. 
"  You  took  too  much  for  granted.  Isn't  that  true?  " 

"  God  knows  I  didn't  expect  her  to  refuse  me,"  he 
exclaimed,  glaring  at  her.  "  Would  I  have  been  such 
a  fool  as  to  ask  her  if  I  thought  there  was  the  remotest 
chance  of  being — "  The  very  thought  of  the  word 
caused  it  to  stick  in  his  throat.  He  swallowed  hard. 

"  You  really  love  her?  "  she  demanded. 

"Love  her?"  There  was  a  sob  in  his  voice.  "I 
adore  her,  Sara.  I  can't  live  without  her.  And  the 
worst  of  it  is,  I  love  her  now  more  than  I  did  before. 
Oh,  it's  appalling!  It's  horrible!  What  am  I  to  do, 
Sara?  What  am  I  to  do?  " 

"  Be  a  man  for  a  little  while,  that's  all,"  she  said 
coolly. 

"  Don't  joke  with  me,"  he  groaned. 

"  Go  to  bed,  and  when  you  see  her  in  the  morning  tell 
her  that  you  understand.  Thank  her  for  what  she  has 
done  for  you.  Be  — " 

"  Thank  her  ?  "  he  almost  shouted. 

"  Yes ;  for  destroying  all  that  is  detestable  in  you, 
Leslie, —  your  self-conceit,  your  arrogance,  your  false 
notions  concerning  yourself, —  in  a  word,  your  ego 
tism." 

He  blinked  incredulously.  "  Do  you  know  what 
you're  saying?  "  he  gasped. 

She  went  on  as  if  she  hadn't  heard  him. 


194?          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  Assure  her  that  she  is  to  feel  no  compunction  for 
what  she  has  done,  that  you  are  content  to  be  her  loyal, 
devoted  friend  to  the  end  of  your  days." 

"  But,  hang  it,  Sara,  I  love  her !  " 

"  Don't  let  her  suspect  that  you  are  humiliated.  On 
the  contrary,  give  her  to  understand  that  you  are 
cleansed  and  glorified." 

"What  utter  tommy—" 

"  Wait !  Believe  me,  it  is  your  only  chance.  You 
will  have  to  learn  some  time  that  you  can't  ride  rough 
shod  among  angels.  Think  it  over,  old  fellow.  You 
have  had  a  good  lesson.  Profit  by  it." 

"  You  mean  I'm  to  sit  down  and  twirl  my  thumbs  and 
let  some  other  chap  snap  her  up  under  my  very  nose? 
Well,  I  guess  not !  " 

"  Not  necessarily.  If  you  take  it  manfully,  she  may 
discover  a  new  interest  in  you.  Don't  breathe  a  word  of 
love  to  her.  Go  on  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  Don't 
forget  that  I  told  you  in  the  beginning  not  to  take  no 
for  an  answer." 

He  drooped  once  more,  biting  his  lip.  "  I  don't  see 
how  I  can  ever  tell  mother  that  she  refused — " 

"  Why  tell  her?  "  she  inquired,  rising. 

His  eyes  brightened.  "  By  Jove,  I  shan't,"  he  ex 
claimed. 

"  I  am  going  up  to  the  poor  child  now,"  she  went  on. 
"  I  dare  say  you  have  frightened  her  almost  to  death. 
Naturally  she  is  in  great  distress.  I  shall  try  to  con 
vince  her  that  her  decision  does  not  alter  her  position 
in  this  house.  I  depend  on  you  to  do  your  part,  Les 
lie.  Make  it  easy  for  her  to  stay  on  with  me." 

He  mellowed  to  the  verge  of  tears. 

"  I  can't  keep  on  coming  out  here  after  this,  as  I've 
been  doing,  Sara." 


MAN  PROPOSES  195 

"  Don't  be  silly !  Of  course  you  can.  This  will 
blow  over." 

"Blow  over?"  he  almost  gasped. 

"  I  mean  the  first  effects.  Try  being  a  martyr  for 
a  while,  Leslie.  It  isn't  a  bad  plan,  I  can  assure  you. 
It  may  interest  you  to  know  that  Challis  proposed  to  me 
three  times  before  I  accepted  him,  and  yet  I  —  I  loved 
him  from  the  beginning." 

"  By  Jove  1 "  he  exclaimed,  coming  to  his  feet  with  a 
new  light  in  his  eyes.  The  hollows  in  his  cheeks  seemed 
to  fill  out  perceptibly. 

"Good-night!" 

"  I  say,  Sara  dear,  you'll  —  you'll  help  me  a  bit, 
won't  you?  I  mean,  you'll  talk  it  over  with  her  and  — " 

"  My  sympathy  is  entirely  with  Miss  Castleton,"  she 
said  from  the  doorway.  His  jaw  dropped. 

He  was  still  ruminating  over  the  callousness  of  the 
world  in  respect  to  lovers  when  she  mounted  the  stairs 
and  tapped  firmly  on  Hetty's  door. 

His  hopes  began  to  revive.  A  new  thought  had  en 
tered  in  and  lodged  securely  among  them,  bracing  them 
up  amazingly.  "  By  Jove,"  he  said  to  himself,  staring 
hard  at  the  floor,  "  I  dare  say  I  did  go  about  it  badly. 
Sara  was  clever  enough  to  see  it.  I  must  have  taken 
her  off  her  feet  with  my  confounded  earnestness.  Girls 
do  lose  their  heads,  bless  'em,  if  you  go  at  them  with  a 
rush.  I'm  sure  she'll  look  at  it  differently  when  she's 
had  time  to  compose  herself."  He  was  perplexed,  how 
ever,  over  something  he  had  not  revealed  to  Sara,  and 
his  sudden  frown  proved  that  it  was  still  disturbing  him. 
"  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  understand  why  she  should 
have  been  so  damned  horrified  at  the  idea." 

He  started  for  the  dining-room,  recalling  his  need 
of  a  drink,  but  changed  his  mind  in  the  hall.  Grabbing 


196          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

up  his  hat  and  stick,  he  darted  out  of  the  house  and 
was  soon  swinging  briskly  down  the  moonlit  avenue. 
He  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  a  long  walk  would 
prove  settling ;  and  moreover  it  wasn't  a  stupid  idea  to 
go  over  and  have  his  drink  with  Brandon  Booth.  The 
longer  he  walked,  the  more  springy  his  stride.  Sara 
was  quite  right ;  he  had  gone  about  it  badly.  He'd  go 
about  it  differently  next  time. 

Half  way  to  Booth's  cottage  his  pace  slackened.  A 
disconcerting  thought  struck  him,  almost  like  a  dash  of 
cold  water  in  the  face:  Was  she  in  love  with  Booth? 
He  sat  down  on  the  rugged  stone  fence  to  ponder.  A 
cold  perspiration  broke  out  all  over  him.  When  he 
next  resumed  his  walk,  his  back  was  towards  Booth's 
cottage.  He  attributed  the  perspiration  to  the  vio 
lence  of  his  exercise. 

Hetty  Castleton  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  her 
room  when  Sara  entered.  From  her  position,  it  was 
evident  that  she  had  stopped  short  in  her  nervous,  ex 
cited  pacing  of  the  floor.  She  was  very  pale  but  there 
was  a  dogged,  set  expression  about  her  mouth. 

"  Come  in,  dear,"  she  said,  in  a  manner  that  showed 
she  had  been  expecting  the  visit.  "  Have  you  seen 
him?" 

Sara  closed  the  door,  and  then  stood  with  her  back 
against  it,  regarding  her  agitated  friend  with  serious, 
compassionate  eyes. 

"  Yes.  He  is  terribly  upset.  It  was  a  blow  to  him, 
Hetty." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  him,  Sara.  He  was  so  dreadfully 
in  earnest.  But,  thank  God,  it  is  over !  "  She  threw 
back  her  head  and  breathed  deeply.  "  That  horrible, 
horrible  nightmare  is  ended.  I  suppose  it  had  to  be. 


MAN  PROPOSES  197 

But  the  mockery  of  it  —  think  of  it,  Sara !  —  the  damn 
able  mockery  of  it !  " 

"  Poor  Leslie !  "  sighed  the  other.     "  Poor  old  Leslie." 

Hetty's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  Oh,  I  am  sorry  for 
him.  He  didn't  deserve  it.  God  in  heaven,  if  he  really 
knew  everything!  If  he  knew  why  I  could  not  listen 
to  him,  why  I  almost  screamed  when  he  held  my  hands 
in  his  and  begged  —  actually  begged  me  to  —  Oh,  it 
was  ghastly,  Sara !  " 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  swayed  as 
if  about  to  fall.  Sara  came  quickly  to  her  side.  Put 
ting  an  arm  about  the  quivering  shoulders,  she  led  the 
girl  to  the  broad  window  seat  and  threw  open  the 
blinds. 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,  dearest, —  don't  think  of  that. 
Sit  here  quietly  in  the  air  and  pull  yourself  together. 
Let  me  talk  to  you.  Let  me  tell  you  how  deeply  dis 
tressed  I  am,  not  only  on  your  account,  but  his." 

They  were  silent  for  a  long  time,  the  girl  lying  still 
and  almost  breathless  against  the  other's  shoulders.  She 
was  still  wearing  the  delicate  blue  dinner  gown,  but  in 
her  fingers  was  the  exquisite  pearl  necklace  Sara  had 
given  her  for  Christmas.  She  had  taken  it  off  and  had 
forgotten  to  drop  it  in  her  jewel  box. 

"  I  suppose  he  will  go  up  to  the  city  early,"  she  said 
monotonously. 

"  Leslie  is  a  better  loser  than  you  think,  my  dear," 
said  Sara,  looking  out  over  the  tops  of  the  cedars. 
"  He  will  not  run  away." 

Hetty  looked  up  in  alarm.  "  You  mean  he  will  per 
sist  in  —  in  his  attentions,"  she  cried. 

"  Oh,  no.  I  don't  believe  you  will  find  him  to  be  the 
bugbear  you  imagine.  He  can  take  defeat  like  a  man. 
He  is  devoted  to  you,  he  is  devoted  to  me.  Your  de- 


198          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

cision  no  doubt  wrecks  his  fondest  hope  in  life,  but  it 
doesn't  make  a  weakling  of  him." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  — " 

"  He  is  sustained  by  the  belief  that  he  has  paid  you 
the  highest  honour  a  man  can  pay  to  a  woman.  There 
is  no  reason  why  he  should  turn  his  back  on  you,  as  a 
sulky  boy  might  do.  No,  my  dear,  I  think  you  may 
count  on  him  as  your  best,  most  loyal  friend  from  this 
night  on.  He  has  just  said  to  me  that  his  greatest 
pain  lies  in  the  fear  that  you  may  not  be  willing  to  ac 
cept  him  as  a  simple,  honest,  unpresuming  friend 
since  — " 

"  Oh,  Sara,  if  he  will  only  be  that  and  nothing  more !  " 
cried  the  girl  wonderingly. 

Sara  smiled  confidently.  "  I  fancy  you  haven't  much 
to  fear  in  that  direction,  my  dear.  It  isn't  in  Leslie 
Wrandall's  make-up  to  court  a  second  repulse.  He  is 
all  pride.  The  blow  it  suffered  to-night  can't  be  re 
peated  —  at  least,  not  by  the  same  person." 

"  I  am  so  sorry  it  had  to  be  Leslie,"  murmured  Hetty. 

"  Be  nice  to  him,  Hetty.  He  deserves  that  much  of 
you,  to  say  the  least.  I  should  miss  him  if  he  found 
it  impossible  to  come  here  on  account  of — " 

"  I  wouldn't  have  that  happen  for  the  world,"  cried 
the  girl  in  distress.  "  He  is  your  dearest  friend.  Send 
me  away,  Sara,  if  you  must.  Don't  let  anything  stand 
in  the  way  of  your  friendship  for  Leslie.  You  depend 
on  him  for  so  much,  dear.  I  can't  bear  the  thought 
of—" 

"  Hush,  dearest !  You  are  first  in  my  love.  Better 
for  me  to  lose  all  the  others  and  still  have  you." 

The  girl  looked  at  her  in  wonder  for  a  long  time. 
"  Oh,  I  know  you  mean  it,  Sara,  but  —  but  how  can  it 
be  true?  " 


MAN  PROPOSES  199 

"  Put  yourself  in  my  place,"  was  all  that  Sara  said 
in  reply,  and  her  companion  had  no  means  of  translat 
ing  the  sentence. 

She  could  only  remain  mute  and  wondering,  her  eyes 
fixed  on  that  other  mystery:  the  cameo  face  in  the 
moon  that  hung  high  above  the  sombre  forest. 

"  If  it  were  not  for  the  trip  to  Lenox,"  she  murmured 
plaintively. 

"  The  trip  is  off,"  announced  Sara.  She  too  was 
staring  at  the  cloudless  sky.  "  There  will  be  rain  to 
morrow." 

"  It  is  very  clear  to-night,  Sara." 

"  Do  you  hear  that  little  wail  in  the  trees  —  as  if 
a  child  were  whimpering  out  there?  That  is  the  plaint 
of  the  fairies  who  live  in  the  buds  and  twigs,  in  the 
flower  cups  and  mosses.  They  famish,  their  gods  will 
hear.  Their  gods  hear  when  ours  is  deaf.  You  will 
see.  There  will  be  clouds  over  us  to-morrow  and  we 
will  breathe  the  mist." 

The  girl  shivered. 

Many  minutes  afterward  she  said,  as  one  who  mar 
vels  :  "  I  hear  the  promise  in  the  wind,  Sara, —  the  new, 
cool  wind." 

"  The  gods  are  whispering.  Soon  the  fairies  and 
elves  will  come  forth  to  revel.  Ah,  what  a  wonderful 
thing  the  night  is !  " 

"  The  fairies,"  mused  the  girl.  "  You  believe  in 
them?" 

"  Resolutely." 

"  And  I  too." 

"  We  will  never  grow  old,  my  dear,"  said  Sara. 
"  That  is  what  the  fairies  are  for :  to  keep  those  who 
love  them  young." 

Hetty  had  relaxed.     Her  soft  young  body  was  warm 


200          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

again ;  that  ineffably  feminine  charm  was  revived  in  her. 

"  Poor  Leslie,"  murmured  Sara,  a  long  time  after 
ward,  a  dreamy  note  in  her  voice.  "  I  can't  put  him 
out  of  my  thoughts.  He  will  never  get  over  it.  I  have 
never  seen  one  so  stricken  and  yet  so  brave.  He  would 
have  been  more  than  a  husband  to  you,  Hetty.  It  is 
in  him  to  be  a  slave  to  the  woman  he  loves.  I  know  him 
well,  poor  boy." 

Hetty  was  silent,  brooding.  Sara  resumed  her 
thoughtful  observations. 

"  Why  should  you  let  what  happened  months  ago 
stand  in  the  way  of  — " 

She  got  no  farther  than  that.  With  an  exclamation 
of  horror,  the  girl  sprang  away  from  her  and  glowered 
at  her  with  dilated  eyes. 

"  My  God,  Sara !  "  she  whispered  hoarsely.  "  Are 
you  mad?  " 

The  other  sighed.  "  I  suppose  you  must  think  it  of 
me,"  she  said  dismally.  "  We  are  made  differently,  you 
and  I.  If  I  cared  for  a  man,  nothing  in  all  this  world 
could  stand  between  me  and  him.  My  love  would  for 
tify  me  against  the  enemy  we  are  prone  to  call  con 
science.  It  would  justify  me  in  slaying  the  thing  we 
call  conscience.  In  your  heart,  Hetty,  you  have  not 
wronged  Leslie  Wrandall  by  any  act  of  yours.  You 
owe  him  no  reparation.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  not  far 
out  of  the  way  to  say  that  he  owes  you  something,  but 
of  course  it  is  a  claim  for  recompense  and  resolves  itself 
into  a  sentimental  debt,  so  there's  really  no  use  discuss- 
ing  it." 

Hetty  was  still  staring.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say 
you  would  have  me  marry  Challis  Wrandall's  brother?  " 
she  said,  in  a  sort  of  stupefaction. 

Sara  shook  her  head.     "  I  mean  this :  you  would  be 


MAN  PROPOSES  201 

justified  in  permitting  Leslie  to  glorify  that  which  his 
brother  desecrated ;  your  womanhood,  my  dear." 

"  My  God,  Sara  1 "  again  fell  in  a  hoarse  whisper  from 
the  girl's  lips. 

.  "  I  simply  voice  my  point  of  view,"  explained  Sara 
calmly.  "  As  I  said  before,  we  look  at  things  differ 
ently." 

"  I  can't  believe  you  mean  what  you  have  said,"  cried 
Hetty.  "  Why  —  why,  if  I  loved  him  with  all  my  heart, 
soul  and  body  I  could  not  even  think  of  —  Oh,  I  shud 
der  to  think  of  it !  " 

"  I  love  you,"  continued  Sara,  fixing  her  mysterious 
eyes  on  those  of  the  girl,  "  and  yet  you  took  from  me 
something  more  than  a  brother.  I  love  you,  knowing 
everything,  and  I  am  paying  in  full  the  debt  he  owes 
to  you.  Leslie,  knowing  nothing,  is  no  less  your  debtor. 
All  this  is  paradoxical,  I  know,  my  dear,  but  we  must 
remember  that  while  other  people  may  be  indebted  to 
us,  we  also  owe  something  to  ourselves.  We  ought  to 
take  pay  from  ourselves.  Please  do  not  conclude  that 
I  am  urging  or  even  advising  you  to  look  with  favour 
upon  Leslie  Wrandall's  honourable,  sincere  proposal  of 
marriage.  I  am  merely  trying  to  convince  you  that 
you  are  entitled  to  all  that  any  man  can  give  you  in 
this  world  of  ours, —  we  women  all  are,  for  that  mat 
ter." 

"  I  was  sure  that  you  couldn't  ask  me  to  marry  him. 
I  couldn't  believe  — " 

"  Forget  what  I  have  said,  dearest,  if  it  grieves  you," 
cried  Sara  warmly.  She  arose  and  drew  the  girl  close 
to  her.  "Kiss  me,  Hetty."  Their  lips  met.  The 
girl's  eyes  were  closed,  but  Sara's  were  wide  open  and 
gleaming.  "  It  is  because  I  love  you,"  she  said  softly, 
but  she  did  not  complete  the  sentence  that  burned  in  her 


202          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

brain.  .  To  herself  she  repeated :  "  It  is  because  I  love 
you  that  I  would  scourge  you  with  Wrandalls !  " 

"  You  are  very  good  to  me,  Sara,"  sobbed  Hetty. 

"  You  mil  be  nice  to  Leslie?  " 

"  Yes,  yes !     If  he  will  only  let  me  be  his  friend." 

"  He  asks  no  more  than  that.  Now,  you  must  go  to 
bed." 

Suddenly,  without  warning,  she  held  the  girl  tightly 
in  her  arms.  Her  breathing  was  quick,  as  of  one  moved 
by  some  sharp  sensation  of  terror.  When  Hetty,  in 
no  little  wonder,  opened  her  eyes  Sara's  face  was  turned 
away,  and  she  was  looking  over  her  shoulder  as  if  cause 
for  alarm  had  come  from  behind. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  cried  Hetty  anxiously. 

She  saw  the  look  of  dread  in  her  companion's  eyes, 
even  as  it  began  to  fade. 

"  I  don't  know,"  muttered  Sara.  "  Something,  I 
can't  tell  what,  came  over  me.  I  thought  some  one  was 
stealing  up  behind  me.  How  silly  of  me." 

"  Ah,"  said  Hetty,  with  an  odd  smile,  "  I  can  under 
stand  how  you  felt." 

"  Hetty,  will  you  take  me  in  with  you  to-night  ?  " 
whispered  Sara  nervously.  "  Let  me  sleep  with  you.  I 
can't  explain  it,  but  I  am  afraid  to  be  alone  to-night." 
The  girl's  answer  was  a  glad  smile  of  acquiescence. 
"  Come  with  me,  then,  to  my  bedroom  while  I  change. 
I  have  the  queerest  feeling  that  some  one  is  in  my  room. 
I  don't  want  to  be  alone.  Are  you  afraid?  " 

Hetty  held  back,  her  face  blanching. 

"  No,  I  am  not  afraid,"  she  cried  at  once,  and  started 
toward  the  door. 

"  There  is  some  one  in  this  room,"  said  Sara  a  few 
moments  later,  when  they  were  in  the  big  bedroom  down 
the  hall. 


MAN  PROPOSES  203 

"I  —  I  wonder,"  murmured  Hetty. 

And  yet  neither  of  them  looked  about  in  search  for 
the  intruder! 

Far  into  the  night  Sara  sat  in  the  window  of  Hetty's 
dressing-room,  her  chin  sunk  low  in  her  hands,  staring 
moodily  into  the  now  opaque  night,  her  eyes  sombre  and 
unblinking,  her  body  as  motionless  as  death  itself.  The 
cooling  wind  caressed  her  and  whispered  warnings  into 
her  unheeding  ears,  but  she  sat  there  unprotected 
against  its  chill,  her  night-dress  damp  with  the  mist 
that  crept  up  with  sinister  stealth  from  the  sea. 

In  the  flats  below,  a  vast  army  of  frogs  shrilled  in 
ceaseless  chatter ;  night  birds  and  insects  responded  to 
the  bedlam  challenge ;  the  hoarse  monotonous  grunts 
of  a  fog-horn  came  up  from  the  Sound.  There  were 
people  out  there,  asleep  in  passage. 

A  cat  mewed  piteously  somewhere  in  the  garden. 
She  was  curiously  disturbed  by  this.  She  hated  cats. 
There  had  never  been  one  on  the  place  before. 


CHAPTER    XII 

THE  APPEQACH  OF  A  MAX  XAMED  SMITH 

MX.  REDMOND  WKAXBAIX,  grey  and  gaunt  tad  sosae- 
whn*  wistfid,  rode  dowty  lhin*>  the  leafy  lane,  at- 

".'--".".'.  v  .     *"  '.'~  j_^~  '  1 1  JT  ::..". 

•i  tte  sadfle  mmd  tboo^it  onlr  of  the 
defl  to  curse  it  with  poetic  license.      (Erer  since 
Mr.  Wrudd  h^beea  &rovn  bj  his  horse  in  the  Park 

wife  had!  •Brtcfli  OB  hi 
he  lost  his  seat  again: 
got  on  Mr.  WrandalFs 

Eke  that,  hot  there  didn't 

to  he  any  war  oat  of  ft,  mar  was  there  the  re- 
fiKefihooo   waft  the 


He  noonsrhcd  the  lament 
before  his  tine,  despite  the  sixty 
K.  He  was  always  a  trifle 
having  deBanded  more  of 
ihexefore,  was  a  physical  insult. 
at  him:  his  yerj  presence  in  the 
top  sort  of  prodaBaa- 
tJB«  that  he,  B  \itrn  ••  il  WraadaH,  was  in  his  dotage,  sai 
that  was  sas«iTTiiiia  Mr.  WrandaH  would  never  have 
if  he  had  had  anything  to  say  about  ft. 

vflkkM^'  •§•<»    —  *-*|    V.T« 

daonghter-iB-4&w   and  one  whom  he  looked  upon  as  a 

It  was  Wednesday  and 


THE  APPROACH  OF  SMITH  : 

tile  f  ami}  j  had  beat  in  tbe  coavtrj  «ee  Moadaj.  H» 
wife  and  Vrriaa  bad  Motored  orer  on  Taesday.  Tbej 
were  letting  BO  gnus  grow  under  ibeir  feet, 

taurtion  on  tbe  part  of  Leslie,  who  bad  goae  «•?  for  a. 
fortnight**  fishing  in  Maine.  Morecrrer.  so  far  ac  they 
,  he  had  departed  without  pix)posing  to  Mias  Casfle- 
:  an  oversight  which  deprived  his  no&er  «f  at  least 
two  weeks  of  activilj  alaaaj  ofaviow  fiacs.  Nataralj, 
it  was  quite  impocnbie  to  daiaHi  tte  iatare 


~.  under  tbe  cireBBBftanees,  aad  it  wa 
out  of  tbe  question  to  OSSCBBB  it  witb  sceacrity  ia  tbe 
tuj  constricted  circle  that  Mrs.  Wraadafl  affected  m 
tbe  coontrj.  R  reallT  was  too  bad  of  Leslie!  He 
haW  know,  better. 


Half  way  to  Sonthlook,  Mr.  Wraadafl, 
bend  in  tbe  road,  i  iiifcht  d^t  of  two  people 


aevccal  boadmf  ^Aiiu  awaT,  aad.  uweSaMg  at  the  cfc- 
rection  be  was  going.  He  puQed.  bit  bane  dam  tat  a, 
walk,  a  circumstance  tibat  far  tbe  aHaneat  tm-afMid  tbe 
attLafJoa  of  Grifgp,  wbo  rode  aloagside  before  be  qn&e 
realised  what  bad  happeaed. 

u  wben  did  »ij  SOB  return?  " 

Griggs  grasped  tbe  STtnatJOM  at  a  g^aace  —  a  laiber 
Tagne  aad  imperfect 
lag,  »r ,»  be  repfied  F« 
at  sea  as  IB 


"  I  understood  Mrs.  WrandaH  to  say 
pected  before  Sainrdaj." 

«  Wei,*  said  Mr.  Wnadafl,  witb  am 

«we  wffl 


306          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

'"  No,  indeed,  sir,"  consented  Griggs,  with  a  wink 
that  Mr.  Wrandall  did  not  see. 

The  pleased,  satisfied  smile  grew  on  Redmond  Wran- 
clall's  gaunt  old  face:  not  reminiscent,  I  am  bound  to 
say,  yet  reflective. 

The  tall  young  man  and  the  girl  far  ahead  apparently 
were  not  aware  of  the  scrutiny.  They  appeared  to  be 
•completely  absorbed  in  each  other.  At  last,  coming  to 
a  footpath  diverging  from  the  macadam,  they  stopped 
and  parleyed.  Then  they  turned  into  this  narrow,  tor 
tuous  path  over  the  hillside  and  were  lost  to  view. 

Mr.  Wrandall's  smile  broadened  as  he  touched  his 
horse  lightly  with  the  crop.  Coming  to  the  obscure 
little  bypath,  he  shot  a  surreptitious  glance  into  the 
fastnesses  of  the  wood,  but  did  not  slacken  his  speed. 
No  one  was  in  sight. 

"  I  dare  say  the  danger  is  past,  Griggs,"  he  said 
humorously.  "  They  are  safe." 

"  I  believe  you,  sir,"  said  Griggs,  also  forgetting  him 
self  so  far  as  to  steal  a  look  over  his  right  shoulder. 

It  was  Mr.  Wrandall's  design  to  ride  on  to  Southlook 
and  surprise  Leslie  and  his  inamorata  at  the  lodge  gates, 
where  he  would  wait  for  them.  Arriving  there,  he  dis 
mounted  and  turned  his  steed  over  to  Griggs,  with  in 
structions  to  ride  on.  He  would  join  Mr.  Leslie  and 
Miss  Castleton  and  walk  with  them  for  the  remainder  of 
the  distance. 

He  sat  down  on  the  rustic  bench  and  lighted  a  cigar. 
The  lodge-keeper  saluted  him  from  the  garden  below. 
X.ater  the  keeper's  small  son  came  up  and  from  the  op 
posite  side  of  the  roadway  regarded  him  with  the  wide, 
curious  gaze  of  a  four-year-old.  Mr.  Wrandall  disliked 
children.  He  made  no  friendly  overtures.  The  child 
stood  his  ground,  which  was  in  a  sense  disconcerting,  al- 


207 

thought  he  couldn't  tell  why.  He  felt  like  saying 
"  shoo !  "  Presently  the  keeper's  collie  came  up  and 
sniffed  his  puttees,  all  the  while  looking  askance.  Mr. 
Wrandall  said :  "  Away  with  you,"  and  the  dog  retreated 
with  some  dignity  to  the  steps  where  he  laid  down  and 
fixed  his  eyes  on  the  stranger. 

Half-an-hour  passed.  Mr.  Wrandall  frowned  as  he 
looked  at  his  watch.  Another  quarter  of  an  hour  went 
by.  He  changed  his  position,  and  the  dog  lifted  his 
head,  without  wagging  his  tail. 

"  Ton  my  soul,"  said  Mr.  Wrandall  in  some  annoy 
ance. 

Just  then  the  dog  and  the  child  deflected  their  com 
mon  stare.  He  was  at  first  grateful,  then  interested. 
The  child  was  beaming,  the  dog's  tail  was  thumping  a 
merry  tattoo  on  the  wooden  step.  Footsteps  crunched 
on  the  gravel  and  he  turned  to  look,  although  it  was  not 
the  direction  from  which  he  expected  his  son  and  Miss 
Castleton. 

He  came  to  his  feet,  plainly  perplexed.  Miss  Castle- 
ton  approached,  but  the  fellow  beside  her  was  not  Leslie. 

"  How  are  you,  Mr.  Wrandall?  "  called  out  the  young 
man  cheerily,  crossing  the  road. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Brandon,"  said  Mr.  Wrandall, 
nonplussed.  "How  do  you  do,  Miss  Castleton?  De 
lighted  to  see  you  looking  so  well.  Where  did  you 
leave  my  son?  " 

"  Haven't  seen  him,"  said  Booth.     "  Is  he  back?  " 

Mr.   Redmond  Wrandall   swallowed  hard. 

"  I  was  so  informed,"  he  replied,  with  an  effort. 

"  Are  you  not  coming  up  to  the  house,  Mr.  Wran 
dall?  "  inquired  Miss  Castleton,  and  he  thought  he  de 
tected  a  note  of  appeal  in  her  voice. 

"  Certainly,"  he  announced,  taking  his  place  beside 


208 

her.  To  himself  he  was  saying:  "  This  young  blade  has 
been  annoying  her,  confound  him." 

"  Miss  Castleton  had  a  note  from  Leslie  this  morn 
ing,  saying  he  wouldn't  start  home  till  Friday,"  said 
Booth,  puzzled.  "  You  don't  mind  my  saying  so,  Miss 
Castleton?" 

"  Not  at   all.     I  am  sure  he   said  Friday." 

"  I  fancy  he  did  say  Friday,"  said  Mr.  Wrandall. 
"  I  think  Griggs  had  been  drinking." 

"Griggs?"  inquired  the  two  in  unison. 

He  volunteered  no  more  than  that.  He  was  too  bus 
ily  engaged  in  wondering  what  his  son  could  be  think 
ing  of,  to  leave  this  delightful  girl  to  the  tender  mercies 
of  a  handsome,  fascinating  chap  like  Brandon  Booth. 
He  didn't  relish  the  look  of  things.  She  was  agitated, 
suspiciously  so ;  and  Booth  wasn't  what  one  would  de 
scribe  as  perfectly  at  ease.  There  was  something  in  the 
air,  concluded  Leslie's  father. 

"  I  hear  you  are  coming  over  to  spend  a  fortnight 
with  us,  Miss  Castleton,"  said  he  pleasantly. 

Hetty  started.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Wran 
dall,"  she  said,  although  he  had  spoken  very  distinctly. 

"  Leslie  mentioned  it  a  —  oh,  some  time  ago,  my 
dear.  This  is  the  first  time  I  have  seen  you,  otherwise 
I  should  have  added  my  warmest  appeal  for  you  to 
come  early  and  to  stay  late.  Ha-ha !  Hope  you  will 
find  your  way  to  our  place,  Brandon.  You  are  al 
ways  a  most  welcome  visitor." 

The  girl  walked  on  in  silence,  her  lips  set  with  curi 
ous  firmness.  Booth  looked  at  her  and  indulged  in  a 
queer  little  smile,  to  which  she  responded  with  a  painful 
flush. 

"  Vivian  expects  to  have  a  few  friends  out  at  the 
same  time  —  very  quietly,  you  know,  and  without  much 


THE  APPROACH  OF  SMITH  209 

of  a  hurrah.  Young  ladies  you  ought  to  know  in  New 
York,  my  dear  Miss  Castleton.  I  dare  say  you  will 
remember  all  of  them,  Brandon." 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  Booth,  without  interest. 

"  I  understand  the  portrait  is  finished,"  went  on  the 
old  gentleman,  blissfully  oblivious  to  the  disturbance  he 
had  created.  "  Mrs.  Wrandall  says  it  is  wonderful, 
Brandon.  You  won't  mind  showing  it  to  me?  I  am 
very  much  interested." 

"  Glad  to  have  you  see  it,  sir." 

"  Thanks." 

He  slackened  his  pace,  an  uneasy  frown  appearing  be 
tween  his  eyes. 

"  I  am  almost  afraid  to  tell  Sara  the  news  we  have 
had  from  town  this  morning.  She  is  so  opposed  to 
notoriety  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Poor  girl,  she's 
had  enough  to  drive  one  mad,  I  fear,  with  all  that 
wretched  business  of  a  year  ago." 

Hetty  stopped  in  her  tracks.     She  went  very  white. 

"  What  news,  Mr.  Wrandall?  " 

"  They  say  they  have  stumbled  upon  a  clew, —  an  ab 
solutely  indisputable  clew.  Smith  had  me  on  the  wire 
this  morning.  He  is  the  chief  operative,  you  under 
stand,  Miss  Castleton.  He  informs  me  that  his  original 
theory  is  quite  fully  substantiated  by  this  recent  dis 
covery.  If  you  remember,  he  gave  it  as  his  opinion  a 
year  ago  that  the  woman  was  not  —  er  —  I  may  say, 
of  the  class  catalogued  as  fast.  He  is  coming  out  to 
morrow  to  see  me." 

Things  went  suddenly  black  before  her  eyes,  but  in 
an  instant  she  regained  control  of  herself. 

"  They  have  had  many  clews,  Mr.  Wrandall,"  she 
complained,  shaking  her  head. 

"  I  know,"  he  replied ;  "  and  this  one  may  be  as  futile 


210          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

as  the  rest.  Smith  appears  to  be  absolutely  certain  this 
time,  however." 

"  I  understood  that  Mrs.  Wrandall  —  I  mean  Mrs. 
Challis  Wrandall  —  refused  to  offer  a  reward,"  said 
Booth.  "  These  big  detective  agencies  are  not  keen 
about  — " 

"  There  is  a  ten  thousand  dollar  reward  still  stand 
ing,  Brandon,"  said  Mr.  Wrandall. 

Again  the  girl  started. 

"  That  isn't  generally  known,  sir,"  observed  the 
painter.  "  Leslie  told  me  there  was  no  reward." 

"  It  was  privately  arranged,"  explained  Leslie's 
father. 

They  came  in  sight  of  the  house  at  that  moment,  and 
the  subject  was  dropped,  for  Sara  was  approaching 
them  in  earnest  conversation  with  Mr.  Carroll,  her 
lawyer. 

They  met  at  the  edge  of  the  lower  basin,  where  the 
waters  trickled  down  from  an  imposing  Italian  foun 
tain  on  the  level  above,  forming  a  deep,  clear  pool  to 
which  the  lofty  sky  lent  unfathomable  depths.  To  the 
left  of  the  basin  there  was  a  small  tea-house,  snug  in 
the  shadow  of  the  cypresses  that  lined  the  crest  of  the 
hill.  A  series  of  rough  stone  steps  wound  down  to  the 
water's  edge  and  the  boathouse. 

"  Mr.  Carroll  is  the  bearer  of  startling  news,  Mr. 
Wrandall,"  said  Sara,  after  the  greetings.  There  was 
a  trace  of  the  sardonic  in  her  voice. 

"  Indeed?  "  said  Mr.  Wrandall  gravely. 

"  I  was  not  aware,  sir,"  said  the  old  lawyer  stiffly, 
and  with  a  positive  glare,  "  that  your  detectives  were 
such  unmitigated  asses  as  they  now  appear  to  be." 

"  I  fail  to  understand,  Mr.  Carroll,"  with  consider 
able  loftiness. 


THE  APPROACH  OF  SMITH  211 

"  That  confounded  rascal  Smith  called  to  see  me  this 
morning,  sir.  He  is  a  rogue,  sir.  He  — " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Carroll,"  protested  Mr. 
Wrandall,  in  a  far  from  conciliatory  manner. 

"  It  seems,  in  short,  that  he  has  been  working  on  a 
very  intimate  clew,"  said  Sara,  staring  fixedly  at  her 
father-in-law's  face. 

"  So  he  informed  me  over  the  'phone  this  morn 
ing,"  said  he,  rather  taken  a-back.  "  However,  he  did 
not  go  into  the  details.  I  am  here,  Sara,  to  tell  you 
that  he  is  coming  out  to-morrow.  I  want  to  ask  you  to 
come  over  to  my  place  at  — " 

"  That  is  out  of  the  question,  sir,"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Carroll  vehemently. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Carroll  — "  began  Wrandall  angrily, 
but  Sara  interrupted  him  to  suggest  that  they  talk  it 
over  in  the  tea-house.  She  would  ring  for  tea. 

"  If  you  will  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Wrandall,  I  think  I  will 
be  off,"  said  Booth. 

"  Please  stay,  Mr.  Booth,"  she  urged.  "  I  would 
like  to  have  you  here." 

She  fell  behind  with  Hetty.  The  girl's  eyes  were 
glassy. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,"  she  whispered. 

Booth  pressed  the  button  for  her.  "  Thank  you. 
You  will  be  surprised,  Mr.  Wrandall,  to  hear  that  the 
new  clew  leads  to  a  member  of  your  own  family." 

Mr.  Wrandall  was  in  the  act  of  sitting  down.  At 
her  words  he  dropped.  His  eyes  bulged. 

"Good  God!" 

"  It  appears  that  Mr.  Smith  suspects  —  me!  "  said 
she  coolly. 

Her  father-in-law's  lips  moved,  but  no  sound  issued. 
His  face  was  livid. 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  The  stupid  fool !  "  hissed  the  irate  Mr.  Carroll. 
There  was  deathly  silence  for  a  moment  following  this 
outburst.     Every  face  was  pale.     In  Hetty's  there  was 
an    expression    of   utter   horror.     Her   lips    too   were 
moving. 

"  He  has,  it  seems,  put  one  thing  and  another  to 
gether,  as  if  it  were  a  picture  puzzle,"  went  on  Sara. 
"  His  visit  to  Mr.  Carroll  this  morning  was  for  the 
purpose  of  ascertaining  how  much  it  would  be  worth 
to  me  if  he  dropped  the  case  —  now." 

"  The  infernal  blackmailer !  "  gasped  Mr.  Wrandall, 
finding  his  voice.  "  I  will  have  him  kicked  off  the  place 
if  he  comes  to  me  with  —  My  dear,  my  dear !  You 
cannot  mean  what  you  say." 

He  was  in  a  shocking  state  of  bewilderment. 
"  I'd  advise  you  to  call  off  your  infernal  blackmailer, 
Mr.  Redmond  Wrandall,"  snarled  Mr.  Carroll,  pacing 
back  and  forth. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  stammered  the  other,  "I  —  I  —  do 
you  mean  to  imply  that  I  know  anything  about  this 
infamous  business?  " 

"  He  is  your  dog,  not  ours,"  declared  the  lawyer, 
pacing  the  brick  floor. 

"  Peace,  gentlemen,"  admonished  Sara.  "  Let  us  dis 
cuss  it  calmly." 

"  Calmly?  "  gasped  Mr.  Wrandall. 
"  Calmly !  "  snapped  the  lawyer. 

"  At  least  deliberately.  It  appears,  Mr.  Wrandall, 
that  Smith  has  been  working  on  the  theory  all  along  that 
it  was  I  who  went  to  the  inn  with  Challis.  You  re 
call  the  description  given  of  the  woman?  She  was  of 
my  size  and  figure,  they  said  at  the  time.  Well,  he 
has  — " 

"  It  is  infamous !  "  shouted  Mr.  Wrandall,  spring- 


THE  APPROACH  OF  SMITH  213 

ing  to  his  feet.  "  He  shall  hear  from  me  to-night.  I 
shall  have  him  lodged  in  jail  before — " 

"  You  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  interrupted  Sara 
firmly.  "  I  think  you  will  do  well  to  hear  his  side  of 
the  story.  And  remember,  sir,  that  it  would  be  very 
difficult  for  me  to  establish  an  alibi." 

"  Bless  me !  "  groaned  the  old  man.  Then  his  eyes 
brightened.  "  But  Miss  Castleton  can  prove  that  for 
you,  my  dear.  Don't  forget  Miss  Castleton." 

"  Miss  Castleton  did  not  come  to  me,  you  should  re 
member,  until  after  the  —  the  trouble.  It  occurred 
the  second  night  after  my  arrival  from  Europe.  Mr. 
Smith  has  discovered  that  I  was  not  in  my  rooms  at  the 
hotel  that  night." 

"  You  were  not  ?  "  fell  from  Mr.  Wrandall's  lips. 
"  Where  were  you?" 

"  I  spent  the  night  in  our  apartment  —  alone."  She 
shivered  as  with  a  chill  as  she  uttered  these  words. 

"What!" 

"  Leslie  met  me  at  the  dock.  He  said  that  Challis 
had  gone  away  from  town  for  a  day  or  two.  The  next 
day  I  telephoned  to  the  garage  and  asked  them  to  send 
the  big  car  to  me  as  I  wanted  to  make  some 
calls.  They  said  that  Mr.  Wrandall  had  discharged 
the  chauffeur  a  week  or  two  before  and  had  been  us 
ing  my  little  French  runabout  for  a  few  days,  driving 
it  himself.  I  then  instructed  them  to  send  the  run 
about  around  with  one  of  their  own  drivers.  You  can 
imagine  my  surprise  when  I  was  told  that  Mr.  Wran 
dall  had  taken  the  car  out  that  morning  and  had  not 
returned  with  it." 

"  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Wrandall,  beads  of  perspiration 
standing  on  his  forehead. 

"  He  had  not  left  town.     I  will  not  try  to  describe 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

my  feelings.  Late  in  the  afternoon,  I  called  them  up 
again.  He  had  not  returned.  It  was  then  that  I 
thought  of  going  to  the  apartment,  which  had  been, 
closed  all  winter.  Watson  and  his  wife  were  to  go  in 
the  next  day  by  my  instructions.  Challis  had  been  liv 
ing  at  a  club,  I  believe.  Somehow,  I  had  the  feeling 
that  during  the  night  my  husband  would  come  to  the 
apartment  —  perhaps  not  alone.  You  understand.  I 
went  there  and  waited  all  night.  That  is  the  story.  Of 
course,  it  is  known  that  I  did  not  spend  the  night  at 
the  hotel.  Mr.  Smith  evidently  has  learned  as  much, 
It  is  on  this  circumstance  that  he  bases  his  belief." 

Booth  was  leaning  forward,  breathless  with  inter 
est. 

"  May  I  enquire,  Mr.  Carroll,  how  the  clever  Mr. 
Smith  accounts  for  the  secrecy  observed  by  Mr.  Wran- 
dall  and  his  companion,  if,  as  he  proclaims,  you  were 
the  woman?  Is  it  probable  that  husband  and  wife 
would  have  been  so  mysterious?  " 

Mr.  Carroll  answered.  "  He  is  rather  ingenious  as 
to  that,  Mr.  Booth.  You  must  understand  that  he  does 
not  specifically  charge  my  cli  —  Mrs.  Wrandall  with 
the  murder  of  her  husband.  He  merely  arranges  his 
theories  so  that  they  may  be  applied  to  her  with  a 
reasonable  degree  of  assurance.  He  only  goes  this 
far  in  his  deductions :  If,  as  he  has  gleaned,  Challis 
Wrandall  was  engaged  in  an  illicit  —  er  —  we'll  say  dis 
traction  —  with  some  one  unknown  to  Sara  his  wife, 
what  could  be  more  spectacular  than  her  discovery  of 
the  fact  and  the  subsequently  inspired  decision  to  lay  a 
trap  for  him?  Of  course,  it  is  perfect  nonsense,  but 
it  is  the  way  he  goes  about  it.  It  has  been  established 
beyond  a  doubt  that  Wrandall  met  the  woman  at  a 
station  four  miles  down  the  line  from  Burton's  Inn. 


THE  APPROACH  OF  SMITH  215 

She  came  out  on  one  of  the  local  trains,  go t_  off!  at  this, 
station  as  prearranged,  and  found  him  waiting*  for 
her.  Two  men,  you  will  recall,  testified  to  •  that  effect 
at  the  inquest  sixteen  months  ago.  She  was. heavily 
veiled.  She  got  in  the  motor  and  drove  off  with  him. 
This  was  at  half  past  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening. 
Smith  makes  this  astounding  guess ;  the  woman  instead 
of  being  the  person  expected,  was  in  reality  his  wife,  who 
had  by  some  means  intercepted  a  letter.  Our  specula 
tive  friend  Smith  is  not  prepared  to  suggest  an  arrest 
on  these  flimsy  claims,  but  he  believes  it  to  be  worth 
Mrs.  Wrandall's  while  to  have  the  case  permanently 
closed,  rather  than  allow  these  nasty  conclusions  to  get 
abroad.  They  would  spread  like  wildfire.  Do  you 
see  what  I  mean?  " 

"  It  is  abominable ! "  cried  Hetty,  standing  before 
them  with  flashing  eyes.  "  I  know  she  did  not  — " 

"  Hetty,  my  dear ! "  cried  Sara  sharply. 

The  girl  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in  a  frenzied 
way,  and  then  turned  aside,  biting  her  lips  to  keep  back 
the  actual  confession  that  had  rushed  up  to  them. 

"  It  is  blackmail,"  repeated  Mr.  Wrandall  miserably. 

"  In  the  most  diabolical  form,"  augmented  Carroll. 
"  The  worst  of  it  is,  Wrandall,  we  can't  stop  his  tongue 
unless  we  fairly  choke  him  with  greenbacks.  All  he  has 
to  do  is  to  give  the  confounded  yellow  journals  an  in 
kling  of  his  suspicions,  and  the  job  is  done.  It  seems  to 
be  pretty  well  understood  that  the  crime  was  not  com 
mitted  by  a  person  in  the  ordinary  walks  of  life,  but 
by  one  who  is  secure  in  the  protection  of  mighty  influ 
ences.  There  are  those  who  believe  that  his  compan 
ion  was  one  of  the  well-known  and  prominent  young  ma 
trons  in  the  city,  many  of  whom  were  at  one  time  or 
another  interested  in  him  in  a  manner  not  at  all  compli- 


216          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

mentary.  Smith  suggests  —  mind  you,  he  merely  sug 
gests  —  that  the  person  who  was  to  have  met  Wrandall 
in  the  country  that  night  was  so  highly  connected  that 
she  does  not  dare  reveal  herself,  although  absolutely 
innocent  of  the  crime.  Or,  it  is  possible  on  the  other 
hand,  he  says,  that  she  may  consider  herself  extremely 
lucky  in  failing  to  keep  her  appointment  and  thereby 
alluring  him  to  take  up  with  another,  after  she  had  writ 
ten  the  letter  breaking  off  the  engagement, —  said  let 
ter  not  having  been  received  by  him  because  it  had  fal 
len  into  the  hands  of  his  wife.  Do  you  see?  It  is  in 
genious,  isn't  it?  " 

"  What  is  to  be  done?  "  groaned  Mr.  Wrandall,  in  a 
state  of  collapse.  He  was  sitting  limply  back  in  the 
chair,  crumpled  to  the  chin. 

"  The  sanest  thing,  I'd  suggest,"  said  Booth  sar 
castically,  "  is  the  capture  of  the  actual  perpetrator  of 
the  deed." 

"  But,  confound  them,"  growled  Carroll,  "  they  say 
they  can't." 

"  I  shall  withdraw  my  offer  of  reward,"  proclaimed 
the  unhappy  father,  struggling  to  his  feet.  "  I  never 
dreamed  it  could  come  to  such  a  pass  as  this.  You  do 
believe  me,  .don't  you,  Sara,  my  child  —  my  daughter? 
God  hear  me,  I  never  — ' 

"  Oh,"  said  she  cuttingly,  "  you,  at  least,  are  inno 
cent,  Mr.  Wrandall." 

He  looked  at  her  rather  sharply. 

"  The  confounded  fellow  is  coming  to  see  me  to 
morrow,"  he  went  on  after  a  moment  of  indecision.  "  I 
shall  be  obliged  to  telephone  to  the  city  for  my  attorney 
to  come  out  also.  I  don't  believe  in  taking  chances 
with  these  scoundrels.  They  — " 

"  May  I  enquire,  sir,  why  you  entrusted  the  matter 


THE  APPROACH  OF  SMITH  217 

to  a  third  rate  detective  agency  when  there  are  such 
reputable  concerns  as  the  Pinkertons  or  — "  began  Mr. 
Carroll  bitingly. 

Mr.  Wrandall  held  up  his  hand  deprecatingly. 

"  We  had  an  idea  that  an  unheard  of  agency  might 
accomplish  more  than  one  of  the  famous  organisations." 

"  Well,  you  see  what  has  come  of  it,"  growled  the 
other. 

"  I  was  opposed  to  the  reward,  sir,"  declared  Mr. 
Wrandall  with  some  heat.  "  Not  that  I  was  content 
to  give  up  the  search,  but  because  I  felt  sure  that  the 
guilty  person  would  eventually  reveal  herself.  They 
always  do,  sir.  It  is  the  fundamental  principle  of 
criminology.  Soon  or  late  they  falter.  My  son  Leslie 
is  of  a  like  opinion.  He  has  declared  all  along  that 
the  mystery  will  be  cleared  up  if  we  are  quiescent.  A 
guilty  conscience  takes  its  own  way  to  relieve  itself. 
If  you  keep  prodding  it  with  sharp  sticks  you  en 
courage  fear,  and  stealth,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
without  really  getting  anywhere  in  the  end.  Give  a 
murderer  a  free  rope  and  he'll  hang  himself,  is  my  be 
lief.  Threaten  him  with  that  self-same  rope,  and  he'll 
pay  more  attention  to  dread  than  to  conscience,  and 
your  ends  are  defeated." 

Sara  was  inwardly  nervous.  She  stole  a  glance  at 
the  white,  emotionless  face  of  the  girl  across  the  table, 
and  was  filled  with  apprehension. 

"  Can  you  be  sure,  Mr.  Wrandall,"  she  began  ear 
nestly,  "  that  justice  isn't  the  antidote  for  the  posion- 
ous  thing  we  call  a  conscience?  Suppose  this  woman 
to  have  been  fully  justified  in  doing  what  she  did,  does 
it  follow  tnat  conscience  can  force  her  to  admit,  even 
to  herself,  that  she  is  morally  guilty  of  a  crime  against 
man?  I  doubt  it,  sir." 


218          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

She  was  prepared  for  a  subtle  change  in  Hetty's 
countenance  and  was  not  surprised  to  see  the  light  of 
hope  steal  back  into  her  eyes. 

"  Fully,  justified? "  murmured  the  old  gentleman 
painfully. 

"  Perhaps  we  would  better  not  go  into  that  question 
too  intimately,"  suggested  Mr.  Carroll. 

"  My  son  Leslie  has  peculiar  views  along  the  very 
line  — "  began  Mr.  Wrandall,  in  great  distress  of  mind. 
He  fell  into  a  reflective  mood  and  did  not  finish  the  sen 
tence. 

"  I  shall  see  this  man  Smith,"  announced  Sara  calmly. 

Her  father-in-law  stood  over  her,  his  face  working. 
"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  I  promise  you  this  absurd  busi 
ness  shall  go  no  farther.  Don't  let  it  trouble  you  in 
the  least.  I  will  attend  to  Smith.  If  there  is  no  other 
way  to  check  his  vile  insinuations,  I  will  pay  his  price. 
You  are  not  to  be  submitted  to  these  dreadful  — " 

She  interrupted  him.  "  You  will  do  nothing  of  the 
kind,  Mr.  Wrandall,"  she  said  levelly.  "  Do  you  want 
to  convince  him  that  I  am  guilty  ?  " 

"  God  in  heaven,  no !  " 

"  Then  why  pay  him  the  reward  you  have  offered  for 
the  person  who  is  guilty?  " 

"  It  is  an  entirely  different  propo  — " 

"  It  amounts  to  the  same  thing,  sir.  He  tells  you 
he  has  discovered  the  woman  you  want  and  you  fulfil 
your  part  of  the  bargain  by  paying  him  for  his  services. 
That  closes  the  transaction,  so  far  as  he  is  concerned. 
He  goes  his  way  fully  convinced  that  he  has  put  his 
hands  on  the  criminal,  and  then  proceeds  to  wash  them 
in  private  instead  of  in  public.  No.  Let  me  see  this 
man.  I  insist." 

"  He  will  be  at  my  place  to-morrow  at  eleven,"  said 


THE  APPROACH  OF  SMITH  219 

Wrandall  resignedly.  "  I  wish  Leslie  were  here.  He  is 
so  level-headed." 

Sara  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.  He  looked  up  and 
found  her  regarding  him  rather  fixedly. 

"  It  would  be  just  as  well  as  to  keep  this  from  Mrs. 
Wrandall  and  Vivian,"  she  said  meaningly. 

"  You  are  right,  Sara.  It  would  distress  them  be 
yond  words." 

She  smiled  faintly.  "  May  I  enquire  whether  Mr. 
Smith  is  to  report  to  you  or  to  Mrs.  Wrandall?  " 

He  flushed.  "  My  wife  —  er  —  made  the  arrange 
ments  with  him,  Sara,"  he  said,  but  added  quickly: 
"  With  my  sanction,  of  course.  He  reports  to  me.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  now  that  I  think  of  it,  he  advised  me 
to  say  nothing  to  my  wife  until  he  had  talked  with  me." 

"  Inasmuch  as  he  has  already  talked  it  over  with  me, 
through  counsel,  I  don't  see  any  reason  why  we  should 
betray  his  gentle  confidence,  do  you?  " 

"I  —  I  suppose  not,"  said  he  uncomfortably. 

"  Then,  bring  him  here  at  eleven,  Mr.  Wrandall," 
said  she  serenely.  "  He  has  already  paved  the  way.  I 
imagine  he  expects  to  find  me  at  home.  Put  the  things 
here,  Watson." 

Watson  had  appeared  with  the  tray.  It  being  a  very 
hot  day,  he  did  not  bring  tea. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

MR.  WRANDALL  PERJURES  HIMSELF 

SMITH  arrived  at  eleven,  somewhat  after  the  fashion  of 
the  Hawkshaws  of  "  yellow  back  "  fame,  who,  if  our 
memory  serves  us  right,  were  so  punctual  that  their  ap 
pearance  anywhere  was  described  as  being  in  the  "  nick 
o'  time,"  only  in  this  instance  he  was  expected  and  did 
not  "  drop  from  the  sky,"  as  the  saying  goes. 

Mr.  Wrandall  met  him  at  the  station  and  escorted  him 
in  a  roundabout  way  to  Southlook,  carefully  avoiding 
the  main  village  thoroughfare  and  High  street,  where 
the  fashionable  colony  was  intrenched.  Mr.  Smith,  be 
ing  an  experienced  detective,  was  not  surprised  to  find 
(after  the  introduction),  that  Mr.  Wrandall's  attorney 
had  been  a  fellow-passenger  from  town.  If  he  was  im 
pressed,  he  did  not  once  betray  the  fact  during  the  four 
mile  spin  to  Sara's.  On  the  contrary,  he  seemed  to  be 
entirely  absorbed  in  the  scenery. 

Mr.  Wrandall  had  said,  without  shaking  hands :  "  We 
will  repair  at  once  to  Mrs.  Challis  Wrandall's  house, 
Mr.  Smith.  She  is  expecting  you.  I  have  informed 
her  of  your  mission." 

"  I  think  we'd  better  discuss  the  matter  between  our 
selves,  Mr.  Wrandall,  before  putting  it  up  to  — " 

"  There  is  nothing  in  connection  with  this  unhappy 
affair,  sir,  that  cannot  be  discussed  first-hand  with 
her,"  said  his  employer  stiffly. 

"  Just  as  you  like,  sir,"  said  Smith  indifferently. 
"  I  have  talked  it  over  with  old  man  Carroll.  He  un 
derstands." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  he  does,  Mr.  Smith,"  said  the  other, 

220 


MR.  WRANDALL  PERJURES  HIMSELF 

with  emphasis.     Mr.   Smith  successfully  hid  a   smile. 

He  took  his  seat  beside  the  chauffeur. 

"  I  am  surprised,"  he  observed  to  the  driver,  as  a 
"  feeler,"  "  that  you  haven't  changed  bodies." 

"  Mr.  Wrandall  ordered  the  limousine,  sir,"  said  the 
chauffeur. 

"  Oh,  I  see.  Keeps  it  on  hand  for  rainy  days,  I  sup 
pose." 

"  It's  Mrs.  Wrandall's  idea,"  explained  the  man. 
"  Women  are  fussy  about  their  hair.  We  always  have 
a  limousine  handy." 

"  It  is  a  handy  thing  to  have  about,"  said  Mr.  Smith 
drily,  as  he  looked  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  and 
remarked  the  two  men  behind  him.  They  were  in  very 
close  conversation. 

"  The  boss  usually  takes  the  other  car.  He  likes  the 
wind  in  his  face,  he  says.  I  don't  know  why  he  ordered 
the  limousine  to-day." 

"  Probably  there's  something  in  the  wind  to-day  he 
doesn't  like,"  remarked  Smith,  after  which  he  devoted 
himself  assiduously  to  the  road  ahead,  not  being  a  prac 
ticed  motorist. 

As  they  were  ascending  the  steps  in  Sara's  exotic 
garden,  Smith  ventured  a  somewhat  sinister  remark. 

"  These  steps  are  not  good  for  a  man  with  a  weak 
heart,  Mr.  Wrandall.  I  hope  yours  is  sound." 

"  Quite,  Mr.  Smith.  Have  no  fear,"  said  Mr.  Wran 
dall,  with  an  acute  sense  of  divination.  "  You  will 
also  find  it  to  be  in  the  right  place." 

"  Umph,"  said  Mr.  Smith. 

Sara  did  not  keep  them  waiting  long  in  the  morning 
room.  She  came  in  soon  after  they  were  announced, 
followed  by  Mr.  Carroll,  who  had  spent  the  night  at 
Southlook.  Hetty  Castleton  was  not  in  evidence. 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

She  motioned  them  to  seats  after  Mr.  Wrandall  had 
ceremoniously  introduced  his  lawyer,  and  as  uncere 
moniously  neglected  to  do  as  much  for  Smith. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Smith,  I  presume,"  said  she,  with  a 
slight  uplifting  of  her  eyebrows.  She  took  a  chair 
facing  the  detective. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  said  her  father-in-law.  "  Joseph 
Smith." 

*'  Benjamin,  if  you  please,"  corrected  Mr.  Smith. 

""  I  regret  to  state  that  my  memory  for  names  does 
not  go  back  to  the  Old  Testament,"  said  Wrandall,  with 
a  frosty  smile. 

"  There  are  no  Smiths  in  the  Old  Testament,"  said 
the  detective  grimly. 

"  I  understand,  Mr.  Smith,  that  you  are  prepared  to 
charge  me  with  the  murder  of  my  husband." 

She  said  it  very  quietly,  very  levelly.  Smith  was  a 
bit  staggered. 

"Well,  I  —  er  —  hardly  that,  Mrs.  Wrandall,"  he 
said,  disconcerted. 

**  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  come  to  the  point  at 
once?  " 

«  My  report  in  this  matter,  madam,  is  to  be  made  to 
Mr.  Wrandall  here,  as  I  understand  it,"  said  the  de 
tective,  his  jaw  stiffening.  "We  don't,  as  a  rule,  re 
port  our  findings  to  —  well,  to  the  person  we  suspect. 
It  isn't  what  you'd  call  regular.  Mr.  Wrandall  has 
employed  me  to  make  the  investigation.  He  can  hardly 
expect  me  to  reveal  my  findings  to  you." 

"  My  dear  Sara  — "  began  Mr.  Wrandall. 

"  As  this  is  a  rather  intimate  conference,  Mr.  Smith," 
interrupted  Sara,  with  a  gracious  smile  for  her  father- 
in-law,  "  I  fancy  we  have  nothing  to  gain,  one  way  or 
another,  by  recriminations.  You  have  already  con- 


MR.  WRANDALL  PERJURES  HIMSELF 

suited  Mr.  Carroll,  and  I  have  talked  it  over  with  Mr. 
Wrandall.  That  was  to  have  been  expected,  I  believe. 
As  I  understand  the  situation,  you  are  somewhat  curious 
to  know  just  how  much  it  is  worth  to  me  to  have  the 
matter  dropped." 

Smith  eyed  her  steadily. 

"  That  is  the  case,  precisely,"  he  said  briefly. 

"  Then  you  are  not  really  interested  in  having  the 
guilty  person  brought  to  justice?  " 

"  I  am  not  an  officer  of  the  law,  madam.  I  am  a  pri 
vate  individual,  working  for  private  ends.  It  is  for 
Mr.  Wrandall  to  say  whether  my  discoveries  shall  be 
related  in  court.  I  respectfully  submit  that  I  am  act 
ing  within  my  rights.  My  deductions  have  been  formed. 
That  is  as  far  as  I  can  go  without  his  authority.  He 
has  offered  a  reward,  and  he  has  gone  farther  than  that 
by  engaging  us  to  devote  our  time,  brains  and  energies 
to  the  case.  I  am  in  this  position  at  present :  our  firm 
cannot  accept  the  reward  he  has  offered  without  de 
liberately  declaring  to  the  world  that  we  can  put  our 
hand  on  the  slayer  of  his  son.  As  I  cannot  produce  the 
actual  proof  that  we  have  found  that  person,  I  am  in 
honour  compelled  to  submit  our  findings  so  far  as  they 
have  gone,  and  then  either  to  withdraw  from  the  matter 
or  carry  it  on  to  the  end,  as  he  may  elect.  Our  time  is 
worth  something,  madam.  We  have  made  a  careful  and 
exhaustive  investigation.  We  have  come  to  the  point 
where  we  can  go  no  farther  without  more  or  less  pub 
licly  associating  you  with  our  theories.  I  spoke  to  Mr. 
Carroll  yesterday,  it  is  true,  and  I  am  here  to-day  to 
lay  my  facts  before  Mr.  Wrandall  —  and  his  attorney, 
I  see.  Mr.  Carroll  chose  to  call  me  a  blackmailer.  He 
may  be  correct  in  his  legal  way  of  looking  at  it.  But 
he  is  wrong  in  assuming  that  my  motives  are  criminal. 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

I  submit  that  they  are  fair,  open  and  above  board." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  following  this  astonish 
ingly  succinct  summing  up  of  his  position.  The  three 
men  had  not  taken  their  eyes  from  his  shrewd,  frank 
face  during  that  clever  speech.  They  had  nothing  to 
say.  It  had  been  agreed  among  them  that  Sara  was 
to  do  the  talking.  They  were  to  do  the  watching. 

"  You  put  the  case  very  fairly,  Mr.  Smith,"  said  she 
seriously.  "  I  think  your  position  is  clear  enough, 
assuming  of  course  that  you  have  any  real  evidence  to 
support  your  theories,  whatever  they  may  be.  I  am 
perfectly  free  to  say  that  you  interest  me." 

"  Interest  you?  "  he  said,  in  some  exasperation.  He 
had  expected  her  to  fly  into  a  passion.  "  Don't  you 
take  me  seriously,  madam  ?  " 

"  As  far  as  you  have  gone,  yes." 

Mr.  Wrandall  could  hold  in  no  longer.  He  was  most 
uncomfortable. 

"  See  here,  Smith,  out  with  it.  Let  us  have  your 
story.  My  daughter-in-law  is  not  in  the  least  alarmed. 
You've  been  on  the  wrong  track,  of  course.  But  that 
isn't  the  point.  What  we  want  now  is  to  find  out  just 
where  we  stand." 

"  You  put  it  in  a  rather  compromising  way,  Mr. 
Wrandall.  The  pronoun  '  we  '  is  somewhat  general,  if 
you  will  permit  me  to  say  so.  Do  you  expect  me  to  dis 
cuss  my  findings  in  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Wrandall  and 
her  counsel?  " 

"  Certainly,  sir,  certainly.  You  need  have  no  hesi 
tancy  on  that  score.  I  dare  say  you  came  here  know 
ing  that  what  you  were  to  say  would  go  no  further  than 
these  four  walls." 

"  Would  you  say  that,  sir,  if  I  were  to  submit  proof 
that  would  make  it  look  so  black  for  Mrs.  Wrandall 


MR.  WRANDALL  PERJURES  HIMSELF    225 

that  you  couldn't  very  well  doubt  her  complicity  in  the 
crime,  even  though  you  saw  fit  to  let  it  go  no  further 
than  these  four  walls  ?  " 

Mr.  Wrandall  hesitated.  A  heavy  frown  appeared 
between  his  eyes ;  his  fingers  worked  nervously  on  the 
arm  of  the  chair. 

"  I  may  say  to  you,  Mr.  Smith,  that  if  you  produce 
conclusive  proof  I  shall  do  my  duty  as  a  law-respecting 
citizen.  I  would  not  hesitate  on  that  score." 

Sara  looked  at  him  through  half-closed  lids.  His 
jaws  were  firmly  set. 

Smith  seemed  to  be  reflecting.  He  did  not  speak  for 
a  long  interval. 

"  In  the  first  place,  it  struck  me  as  odd  that  the  man's 
wife  did  not  take  more  interest  in  the  search  that  was 
made  immediately  after  the  kill  —  after  the  tragedy* 
Not  only  that,  but  it  is  of  record  that  she  deliberately 
informed  the  police  that  she  didn't  care  whether  they 
caught  the  guilty  party  or  not.  Isn't  that  true?  " 
The  question  was  directed  to  no  one  in  particular. 

It  was  Sara  who  answered. 

"  Quite  true,  Mr.  Smith.  And  if  it  will  interest  you 
in  the  least,  I  repeat  that  I  don't  care  even  now." 

"  You  were  asked  if  you  would  offer  a  reward  in  ad 
dition  to  the  small  one  announced  by  the  authorities. 
Why  didn't  you  offer  a  reward?  " 

"  Because  I  did  not  care  to  make  it  an  object  for 
well-meaning  detectives  to  pry  into  the  affairs  of  indis 
creet  members  of  society,"  she  said. 

"  I  see,"  said  he  reflectively.  "  May  I  be  so  bold 
as  to  ask  why  you  don't  want  to  have  the  guilty  pun 
ished?" 

She  looked  at  Mr.  Wrandall  before  offering  a  reply 
to  this  direct  question. 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  I  can't  answer  that  question  without  publicly 
wounding  Mr.  Wrandall." 

"  We  understand  each  other,  Sara,"  said  the  old  man 
painfully.  "  I  think  you  would  better  answer  his  ques 
tion." 

"  Because  my  husband  courted  the  fate  that  befell 
him,  Mr.  Smith.  That  is  my  reply.  While  I  do  not 
know  what  actually  transpired  at  the  inn,  I  am  reason 
ably  certain  that  my  husband's  life  was  taken  by  some 
one  who  had  suffered  at  his  hands.  I  can  say  no  more." 

"  The  eye  for  an  eye  principle,  eh?  "  There  was 
deep  sarcasm  in  the  way  he  said  it.  As  she  did  not 
respond  to  the  challenge,  he  abruptly  changed  tactics. 
"  Where  were  you  on  the  night  of  the  murder,  Mrs. 
Wrandall?" 

She  smiled.     "  I  thought  you  knew,  Mr.  Smith." 

"  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  you  were  at  Burton's 
Inn,"  he  said  bluntly. 

"  But  you  wouldn't  be  at  all  sure  about  it  if  I  said  I 
wasn't  there,  would  you,  Mr.  Smith?  " 

"  I  don't  quite  get  you,  Mrs.  Wrandall." 

"  I  mean  to  say,  if  I  made  it  worth  your  while  to 
change  your  opinion,"  she  said  flatly. 

He  cleared  his  throat.  "  You  couldn't  change  my 
opinion,  so  there's  an  end  to  that.  You  could  stop  me 
right  where  I  am,  if  that's  what  you  mean.  I'm  per 
fectly  frank  about  it,  gentlemen.  You  needn't  look  as 
if  you'd  like  to  kill  me.  I'm  not  anxious  to  go  on  with 
the  investigation.  I  don't  know  enough  up  to  date 
to  be  sure  of  a  conviction,  but  I  guess  I  could  get  the 
proof  if  it  is  to  be  found.  This  is  a  family  affair,  I 
take  it.  Mr.  Wrandall  here  doesn't  want  to  — " 

Mr.  Wrandall  struck  the  arm  of  his  chair  a  violent 
blow  with  his  clenched  fist. 


MR.  WRANDALL  PERJURES  HIMSELF    227 

"  You  have  no  authority,  sir,  to  make  such  a  state 
ment  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  want  it  distinctly  understood 
that  I  would  give  half  of  what  I  possess  to  have  the 
slayer  of  my  son  brought  to  justice." 

"  But  you  don't  want  this  thing  to  go  any  further 
so  far  as  Mrs.  Challis  Wrandall  is  concerned,"  said 
Smith  coolly. 

"  Of  course  not,  you  miserable  scoundrel ! "  cried 
the  other  jn  a  rage.  "  She's  no  more  guilty  than  I  am." 

"  Don't  call  names,  Mr.  Wrandall,"  said  Smith,  a 
steely  glitter  in  his  eyes.  "  I  am  prepared  to  lay  be 
fore  you  certain  facts  that  I  have  unravelled,  but  I  am 
not  willing  to  give  them  to  Mrs.  Wrandall." 

"  My  daughter-in-law  spent  the  night  at  her  own 
apartment,  waiting  for  my  son,"  said  Wrandall,  regain 
ing  control  of  himself.  "  That  is  positively  known  to 
me,  sir.  Positively !  " 

"How  can  you  be  sure  of  that,  Mr.  Wrandall?" 
asked  Smith  sharply. 

The  gaunt  old  face,  suddenly  very  much  older  than  it 
had  been  before,  took  on  a  stern,  defiant  expression. 

"  I  spoke  with  her  over  the  telephone  at  half  past 
nine  o'clock  that  night,"  said  he  steadily. 

Smith  was  not  the  only  one  to  be  surprised  by  this 
startling  declaration.  Sara  Wrandall's  eyes  widened 
ever  so  slightly,  and  one  might  have  detected  a  sharp 
catch  in  her  breath. 

"  She  called  you  up?  "  asked  Smith,  after  a  moment 
to  collect  his  wits. 

Mr.  Wrandall  was  not  to  be  trapped.  He  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  lie  for  Sara  in  this  hour  of  need,  and  he 
had  considered  well  his  methods. 

"  No.     I  called  up  the  apartment." 

"  How  did  you  know  she  was  at  her  apartment?  " 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  I  did  not  know  it.  I  called  up  to  speak  with  my 
son.  She  answered  the  call,  Mr.  Smith." 

He  arose  from  the  chair.  Smith  also  came  slowly 
to  his  feet,  the  look  of  astonishment  still  on  his  face. 

"  And  now,  sir,"  went  on  the  old  man,  levelling  a 
bony  finger  at  him,  "  I  think  we  can  dispense  with  your 
services.  I  will  give  you  credit  for  one  thing:  you  are 
plain-spoken  and  above  board.  You  want  money  and 
you  don't  beat  about  the  bush.  If  you  will  instruct 
your  office  to  send  to  me  a  bill  for  services,  I  will  pay 
it.  I  engaged  you,  and  I  am  ready  to  pay  for  my 
stupidity.  My  car  will  take  you  back  to  the  sta 
tion." 

Smith  picked  up  his  hat  and  fumbled  with  it  for  a  mo 
ment,  plainly  dismayed. 

"  If  I  have  been  on  the  wrong  lead,  Mr.  Wrandall,  I 
am  willing  to  drop  it  and  start  all  over  again.  I  sup 
pose  your  reward  still  stands.  I  am  sure  we  can  — 

"  It  does  not  stand,  sir.  I  shall  withdraw  it  this 
very  day.  God  knows  if  I  had  thought  it  would  lead 
us  to  this  pass,  it  should  never  have  been  offered.  Now, 
go,  sir." 

Smith  held  his  ground  doggedly.  "  There  are  a  few 
points  I'd  like  to  — " 

"No!" 

"  For  the  sake  of  justice  and — " 

Sara  interrupted  the  man.  She  had  crossed  to  Mr. 
Wrandall's  side,  a  queer  light  in  her  eyes.  Her  hand 
fell  upon  his  trembling  old  arm  and  he  felt  a  thrill  pass 
from  her  warm,  strong  fingers  into  the  very  core  of  his 
body. 

"  Mr.  Smith,  will  you  give  me  an  off-hand  estimate  of 
what  your  services  amount  to  in  dollars  and  cents  up  to 
date?" 


MR.  WRANDALL  PERJURES  HIMSELF    229 

"  You  don't  owe  me  anything,  Mrs.  Wrandall,"  said 
Smith,  flushing  a  dull  red. 

"  You  came  here  to  give  me  a  chance,  Mr.  Smith, 
feeling  that  I  was  actually  implicated.  You  had  a 
price  fixed  in  your  mind.  You  still  have  your  doubts, 
in  spite  of  what  Mr.  Wrandall  says.  It  occurred  to 
you  that  it  would  be  worth  considerable  to  me  if  the  in 
vestigation  went  no  farther.  You  realised  that  you 
could  not  have  brought  this  crime  home  to  me,  because 
you  could  not  have  found  real,  satisfying  evidence. 
But  you  could  have  gone  to  the  newspapers  with  your 
suspicions,  and  you  could  have  made  one-half  the  world 
believe  that  an  innocent  person  was  guilty  of  a  foul 
crime.  The  world  loves  its  sensations.  It  would  have 
gloated  over  the  little  you  could  have  given  it,  and  it 
would  have  damned  me  unheard.  I  owe  you  something 
for  sparing  me  a  fate  so  wretched  as  that.  Your  price : 
What  is  it?" 

"  Sara  !  "  cried  Mr.  Wrandall,  aghast. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Wrandall,"  cried  Carroll,  blinking 
his  eyes,  "  you  are  not  thinking  of  — 

"  I  am  thinking  of  paying  Mr.  Smith  his  price,"  said 
Sara  calmly. 

"  Why,  damn  it  all,"  roared  Carroll,  "  you  counte 
nance  his  ridiculous  assertions  — " 

"  No ;  I  do  nothing  of  the  sort,  Mr.  Carroll,  and  Mr. 
Smith  knows  it  quite  as  well  as  you  do.  He  still  has 
it  in  his  power  to  set  the  tongues  to  wagging.  We 
can't  get  around  that,  gentlemen.  I  want  to  pay  him 
to  drop  the  case  entirely.  The  reward  has  been  with 
drawn.  Will  it  satisfy  your  cupidity,  Mr.  Smith,  if  I 
agree  to  pay  to  you  a  like  amount?  " 

"  Good  Lord !  "  gasped  Smith,  staggered. 

"  I  cannot  permit  — "  began  Mr.  Wrandall. 


230          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

She  looked  him  squarely  in  the  eye  and  the  words 
died  on  his  lips. 

"  I  prefer  to  have  it  my  way,"  she  said.  "  I  will  not 
accept  favours  from  Mr.  Smith  —  nor  any  other  man." 
Wrandall  alone  caught  the  significance  of  the  last  four 
words.  She  would  not  accept  the  favour  of  a  lie  from 
him !  And  yet  she  would  not  humiliate  by  denying  him 
in  the  presence  of  others.  "  Mr.  Carroll  will  attend  to 
this  matter  for  me,  Mr.  Smith,  if  you  will  call  at  his 
office  at  your  convenience.  I  shall  make  but  a  single 
stipulation  in  addition  to  the  one  involved:  you  are  to 
drop  the  case  altogether.  Mr.  Wrandall  has  already 
dismissed  you.  You  are  under  no  further  obligations 
to  him  or  his  family.  I  respectfully  submit  to  all  of 
you,  gentlemen,  that  when  the  investigations  go  so  far 
astray  as  they  have  gone  in  this  instance,  it  isn't  safe 
to  let  them  continue  with  the  possible  chance  of  proving 
unwholesome  to  other  innocent  persons,  toward  whom, 
in  some  justice,  attention  might  be  drawn.  The  young 
woman  now  in  the  far  West  is  a  sickening  example.  I 
refer  to  the  Ashtley  girl.  If,  by  any  chance,  the  right 
person  should  be  taken,  I  will  do  my  part,  Mr.  Wran 
dall,  with  the  same  purpose  if  not  the  same  spirit  that 
actuates  you,  but  I  am  opposed  to  baring  skeletons  to 
gratify  the  morbid  curiosity  of  a  public  that  despises 
all  of  us  because,  unhappily,  we  are  what  we  are.  I 
trust  I  make  myself  plain  to  you.  I  loved  my  husband. 
I  have  no  desire  to  know  the  names  of  women  who  were 
his  —  we  will  say  —  who  were  in  love  with  him." 

Mr.  Wrandall  bowed  his  head  and  said  not  a  word. 
His  attorney,  who  had  been  a  silent  listener  from  the 
beginning,  spoke  for  the  first  time. 

"  If  Mr.  Smith  will  call  at  my  office  to-morrow,  I 
will  attend  to  the  closing  of  this  matter  to  his  entire 


MR.  WRANDALL  PERJURES  HIMSELF    231 

satisfaction.  Mr.  Wrandall  has  already  authorised  me 
to  settle  in  full  for  his  time  and  —  patience." 

"  I  don't  like  to  take  money  in  this  way  — " 

"  We  won't  discuss  ethics,  Mr.  Smith." 

"  Just  as  you  like,  then.  I'm  only  too  happy  to  be 
off  the  job.  Good  morning,  madam.  Good  morning, 
gentlemen." 

He  stalked  from  the  room.  Watson  was  waiting  in 
the  hall. 

"  This  way,"  he  said,  indicating  the  big  front  door. 

Smith  grinned  sheepishly.  "  'Gad,  they  don't  even 
think  I  can  find  a  front  door,"  he  said. 

Redmond  Wrandall  turned  to  the  two  men  after  he 
heard  the  door  of  his  automobile  slam  in  the  porte-co 
chere. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  believe  it  is  unnecessary  to  announce 
to  you  that  I  did  not  speak  over  the  telephone  with  my 
daughter-in-law  on  that  wretched  night,"  he  said  slowly. 

They  nodded  their  heads. 

"  I  am  not  a  good  liar.  Do  you  think  the  fellow  be 
lieved  me?  " 

"  No,"  said  Sara  instantly.  "  He  is  accustomed  to 
better  lying  than  you  can  supply.  But  it  doesn't  in 
the  least  matter.  He  knows,  however,  that  you  spoke 
the  truth  when  you  said  I  was  in  my  apartment,  even 
though  you  are  not  sure  of  it  yourself,  Mr.  Wrandall. 
I  will  not  presume  to  thank  you  for  what  you  did,  but 
I  shall  never  forget  it,  sir." 

He  regarded  her  rather  austerely  for  a  moment.  "  I 
am  glad  you  do  not  thank  me,  Sara,"  he  said.  "  You 
are  not  to  feel  that  you  are  under  the  slightest  obliga 
tion  to  me." 

"  I  regret  that  you  felt  it  necessary  to  perjure 
yourself,"  she  said  levelly,  and  then  broke  into  a  soft 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

little  laugh  as  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  once  more. 
"  Come !  Let  us  have  a  semi-public  view  of  Hetty's 
portrait." 

He  looked  up  alertly  at  the  mention  of  the  girl's 
name. 

"  By  the  way,  where  is  Miss  Castleton?  "  he  asked, 
drawing  a  long  breath  as  if  the  air  had  suddenly  become 
wholesome. 

"  She  is  back  yonder  in  the  living-room,  having  her 
last  sitting  to  Brandon  Booth.  Just  a  few  finishing 
touches,  that's  all.  I  hear  them  laughing.  The  day's 
work  is  done." 

She  led  the  way  down  the  long  hall,  followed  by  the 
old  gentlemen,  who  came  three  abreast,  hoary  retainers 
at  the  heels  of  youth. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

IN   THE  SHADOW   OF    THE    MILL, 

LATER  on  Sara,  in  sober  reflection,  endorsed  what  had 
appeared  at  the  time  to  be  a  whimsical,  quixotic  pro 
ceeding  on  her  part.  She  brought  herself  completely 
to  the  point  where  she  could  view  her  action  with  com 
placency.  At  first,  there  was  an  irritating,  nagging 
fear  that  Mr.  Wrandall  had  been  genuinely  soul-sacri 
ficing  in  his  effort  to  defend  her ;  that  his  decisive  false 
hood  was  a  sincere  declaration  of  loyalty  to  her  and  not 
the  transparent  outburst  of  one  actuated  by  a  sort  of 
fanatical  selfishness,  in  that  he  dreaded  the  further 
dragging  in  the  dust  of  the  name  of  Wrandall,  and  all 
that  in  spite  of  his  positive  belief  that  she  was  being 
wrongly,  unfairly  attacked.  She  knew  that  her  father- 
in-law  had  no  doubt  in  his  mind  that  she  could  success 
fully  combat  any  charge  Smith  might  bring  against  her  ; 
that  her  innocence  would  prevail  even  in  the  opinion  of 
the  scheming  detective.  But  behind  all  this  was  the 
Wrandall  conclusion  that  a  skin  was  to  be  saved,  and 
that  skin  the  one  which  covered  the  Wrandall  pride. 

His  lie  was  not  glorifying.  She  even  consented  that 
it  might  be  the  first  deliberate  falsehood  this  honoura 
ble,  discriminating  gentleman  had  told  in  all  his  life. 
At  the  moment,  he  may  have  been  actuated  by  a  motive 
that  deceived  him,  but  even  unknown  to  him  the  Wran 
dall  self-interest  was  at  work.  He  was  not  lying  for 
her,  but  for  the  Wrandalls  !  And  she  would  have  to  re 
main  his  debtor  all  her  life  because  of  that  amiable 
falsehood ! 

She  intuitively  felt  the  force  of  that  secret  motive 

233 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

almost  the  instant  it  found  expression,  and  she  resented 
it  even  as  she  applauded  it  in  the  first  wave  of  inward 
enthusiasm.  She  might  have  marked  it  down .  to  his 
credit,  and  loved  him  a  little  for  it,  had  not  his  rather 
distorted  integrity  impelled  him  to  confess  his  trans 
gression  to  the  lawyers,  whereas  it  was  perfectly  plain 
that  they  appreciated  his  distortion  of  the  truth  with 
out  having  it  explained  to  them  in  so  many  words. 
That  virtuous  little  speech  of  his  was  all-illuminating ; 
it  let  in  a  great  light  and  laid  bare  the  weakness  that 
was  too  strong  for  him. 

Her  abrupt  change  of  front,  her  suddenly  formed  re 
solve  to  pay  the  man  his  price,  was  the  result  of  a  nat 
ural  opposition  to  the  elder  Wrandall.  She  acted  has 
tily,  even  ruthlessly,  in  direct  contradiction  to  her 
original  intentions,  but  she  now  felt  that  she  had  acted 
wisely.  There  could  be  no  doubt  in  the  mind  of  the 
keen-witted  Smith  that  Mr.  Wrandall  had  lied ;  his  lips 
therefore  were  sealed,  not  by  the  declaration,  but  by 
her  own  surprising  offer  to  remunerate. 

When  she  told  Hetty  what  she  had  done,  the  girl, 
who  had  been  tortured  by  doubts  and  misgivings,  threw 
herself  into  her  arms  and  sobbed  out  her  gratitude. 

"  I  could  die  for  you,  Sara.  I  could  die  a  thousand 
deaths,"  she  cried. 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  Smith  is  quite  delighted,"  said  Sara 
carelessly.  "  He  had  come  up  against  a  brick  wall, 
don't  you  see.  He  could  go  no  further.  There  was 
but  one  thing  for  him  to  do  and  he  did  it.  He  had  no 
case,  but  he  felt  that  he  ought  to  be  paid  just  the  same. 
Mr.  Wrandall  would  never  have  paid  him,  he  was  sure 
of  that.  His  game  failed.  He  thinks  better  of  me  now 
than  he  ever  did  before,  and  I  have  made  a  friend  of 
him,  strange  as  it  may  appear." 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  MILL        235 

"  Oh,  I  hope  so." 

Sara  stroked  her  cheek  gently.  "  Don't  be  afraid, 
Hetty.  We  are  quite  safe." 

Hetty  secretly  gloated  over  that  little  pronoun  '  we.' 
It  spelt  security. 

"  And  wasn't  it  splendid  of  Mr.  Wrandall  to  say 
what  he  did?  "  she  mused,  lying  back  among  the  cush 
ions  with  a  sigh  of  relaxation. 

Sara  did  not  at  once  reply.     She  smiled  rather  oddly. 

"  It  was,"  she  said  succinctly.  "  I  am  sure  Leslie 
will  go  into  raptures  over  his  father's  decline  and  fall." 

"  Must  he  be  told?  "  in  some  dismay. 

"  Certainly.  Every  son  should  know  his  own  father," 
she  explained,  with  a  quiet  laugh. 

The  next  day  but  one  was  overcast.  On  cloudy, 
bleak  days  Hetty  Castleton  always  felt  depressed. 
Shadowless  days,  when  the  sun  was  obscured,  filled  her 
with  a  curious  sense  of  apprehension,  as  if  when  the 
sun  came  out  again  he  would  not  find  the  world  as  he 
had  left  it.  She  did  not  mope ;  it  was  not  in  her  nature. 
She  was  more  than  ever  mentally  alert  on  such  days,  for 
the  very  reason  that  the  world  seemed  to  have  lapsed 
into  a  state  of  indifference,  with  the  sun  nowhere  to  be 
seen.  There  was  a  queer  sensation  of  dread  in  knowing 
that  that  great  ball  of  fire  was  somewhere  in  the  vault 
above  her  and  yet  unlocated  in  the  sinister  pall  that 
spread  over  the  skies.  Her  fancy  ofttimes  pictured 
him  sailing  in  the  west  when  he  should  be  in  the  east, 
dodging  back  and  forth  in  impish  abandon  behind  the 
screen,  and  she  wondered  at  such  times  if  he  would  be 
where  he  belonged  when  the  clouds  lifted. 

Leslie  was  to  return  from  the  wilds  on  the  following 
day.  Early  in  the  morning  Booth  had  telephoned  to 
enquire  if  she  did  not  want  to  go  for  a  long  walk  with 


236 

him  before  luncheon.  The  portrait  was  finished,  but 
he  could  not  afford  to  miss  the  morning  hour  with  her. 
He  said  as  much  to  her  in  pressing  his  invitation. 

"  To-morrow  Leslie  will  be  here  and  I  shan't  see  as 
much  of  you  as  I'd  like,"  he  explained,  rather  wistfully. 
"  Three  is  a  crowd,  you  know.  I've  got  so  used  to 
having  you  all  to  myself,  it's  hard  to  break  off  sud 
denly." 

"  I  will  be  ready  at  eleven,"  she  said,  and  was  in 
stantly  surprised  to  find  that  her  voice  rang  with  new 
life,  new  interest.  The  greyness  seemed  to  lift  from  the 
view  that  stretched  beyond  the  window ;  she  even  looked 
for  the  sun  in  her  eagerness. 

It  was  then  that  she  knew  why  the  world  had  been 
bleaker  than  usual,  even  in  its  cloak  of  grey. 

A  little  before  eleven  she  set  out  briskly  to  intercept 
him  at  the  gates.  Unknown  to  her,  Sara  sat  in  her 
window,  and  viewed  her  departure  with  gloomy  eyes. 
The  world  also  was  grey  for  her. 

They  came  upon  each  other  unexpectedly  at  a  sharp 
turn  in  the  avenue.  Hetty  coloured  with  a  sudden  rush 
of  confusion,  and  had  all  she  could  do  to  meet  his  eager, 
happy  eyes  as  he  stood  over  her  and  proclaimed 
his  pleasure  in  jerky,  awkward  sentences.  Then  they 
walked  on  together,  a  strange  shyness  attending  them. 
She  experienced  the  faintness  of  breath  that  comes 
when  the  heart  is  filled  with  pleasant  alarms.  As  for 
Booth,  his  blood  sang.  He  thrilled  with  the  joy  of  be 
ing  near  her,  of  the  feel  of  her  all  about  him,  of  the  de 
licious  feminine  appeal  that  made  her  so  wonderful  to 
him.  He  wanted  to  crush  her  in  his  arms,  to  keep  her 
there  for  ever,  to  exert  all  of  his  brute  physical  strength 
so  that  she  might  never  again  be  herself  but  a  part  of 
him. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  MILL       237 

They  uttered  commonplaces.  The  spell  was  on  them. 
It  would  lift,  but  for  the  moment  they  were  powerless 
to  struggle  against  it.  At  length  he  saw  the  colour  fade 
from  her  cheeks ;  her  eyes  were  able  to  meet  his  without 
the  look  in  them  that  all  men  love.  Then  he  seemed 
to  get  his  feet  on  the  ground  again,  and  a  strange,  in 
effably  sweet  sense  of  calm  took  possession  of  him. 

"  I  must  paint  you  all  over  again,"  he  said,  suddenly 
breaking  in  on  one  of  her  remarks.  "  Just  as  you  are 
to-day, —  an  outdoor  girl,  a  glorious  outdoor  girl  in  — ' 

"  In  muddy  boots,"  she  laughed,  drawing  her  skirt 
away  to  reveal  a  shapely  foot  in  an  American  walking 
shoe. 

He  smiled  and  gave  voice  to  a  new  thought.  "  By 
Jove,  how  much  better  looking  our  American  shoes  are 
than  the  kind  they  wear  in  London !  " 

"  Sara  insists  on  American  shoes,  so  long  as  I  am 
with  her.  I  don't  think  our  boots  are  so  villainous,  do 
you?  " 

"  Just  the  same,  I'm  going  to  paint  you  again,  boots 
and  all.  You  — " 

"  Oh,  how  tired  you  will  become  of  me !  " 

"  Try  me !  " 

"  Besides,  you  are  to  do  Sara  at  once.  She  has  con 
sented  to  sit  to  you.  She  will  be  wonderful,  Mr.  Booth, 
oh,  how  wonderful !  " 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  sincerity  of  this  rapt 
opinion. 

"  Stunning,"  was  his  brief  comment.  "  By  the  way, 
I've  hesitated  about  asking  how  she  and  Mr.  Wrandall 
came  out  with  the  detective  chap." 

Her  face  clouded.  "  It  was  so  perfectly  ridiculous, 
Mr.  Booth.  The  man  is  satisfied  that  he  was  wrong. 
The  matter  is  ended." 


238          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  Pure  blackmail,  I'd  call  it.  I  hope  it  isn't  ended 
so  far  as  she  is  concerned.  I'd  have  him  in  jail  so 
quick  his  — " 

"  She's  tender-hearted,  and  sensitive.  No  real  harm 
has  been  done.  She  refuses  to  prosecute  him." 

"  You  can't  mean  it." 

"  If  you  knew  her  as  I  do,  you  would  understand." 

"  But  her  lawyer,  what  had  he  to  say  about  it?  And 
Mr.  Wrandall?  I  should  have  thought  they — " 

"  I  believe  they  quite  approve  of  what  she  has  done. 
Nothing  will  come  of  it." 

He  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  couple  of  rods.  "  I 
have  a  feeling  they  will  never  know  who  killed  Challis 
Wrandall,"  he  said.  "  It  is  a  mystery  that  can't  be 
solved  by  deduction  or  theory,  and  there  is  nothing 
else  for  them  to  work  on,  as  I  understand  the  case. 
The  earth  seems  to  have  been  generous  enough  to  swal 
low  her  completely.  She's  safe  unless  she  chooses  to 
confess,  and  that  isn't  likely.  To  be  perfectly  frank 
with  you,  Miss  Castleton,  I  rather  hope  they  never  get 
her.  He  was  something  of  a  beast,  you  know." 

She  was  looking  straight  ahead.  "  You  used  the 
word  generous,  Mr.  Booth.  Do  you  mean  that  she  de 
serves  pity  ?  " 

"  Without  knowing  all  the  circumstances,  I  would 
say  yes.  I've  had  the  feeling  that  she  was  more  sinned 
against  than  sinning." 

"  Would  you  believe  that  she  acted  in  self-defence  ?  " 

"  It  is  quite  possible." 

"  Then,  will  you  explain  why  she  does  not  give  her 
self  up   to  the   authorities  and   assert  her   innocence? 
There  is  no  proof  to  the  contrary."     She  spoke  hur 
riedly,  with  an  eagerness  which  he  mistook  for  doubt. 
"  For  one  reason,  she  may  be  a  good  woman  who  was 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  MILL        239 

indiscreet.  She  may  have  some  one  else  to  think  of 
besides  herself.  A  second  reason:  she  may  lack  moral 
courage." 

"  Moral  courage !  " 

"  It  is  one  thing  to  claim  self-defence  and  another 
thing  to  get  people  to  believe  in  it.     I  suppose  you 
know  what  Leslie  thinks  about  it?  " 
"  He  has  not  discussed  it  with  me." 
"  He  believes  his  brother  deserved  what  he  got." 
"Oh!" 

"  For  that  reason  he  has  not  taken  an  active  part 
in  hounding  her  down." 

She  was  silent  for  a  long  time,  so  long  indeed  that  he 
turned  to  look  at  her. 

"  A  thoroughly  decent,  fair-minded  chap  is  Leslie 
Wrandall,"  he  pronounced,  for  want  of  something  bet 
ter  to  say.  "  Still,  I'm  bound  to  say,  I'm  sorry  he  is 
coming  home  to-morrow." 

The  red  crept  into  her  cheeks  again. 
"  I  thought  you  were  such  pals,"  she  said  nervously. 
"  I  expect  to  be  his  best  man  if  he  ever  marries," 
said  he,  whacking  a  stone  at  the  road-side  with  his  walk 
ing  stick.     Then  he  looked  up   at  her  furtively   and 
added,  with  a  quizzical  smile :     "  Unless  something  hap 
pens." 

"  What  could  happen?  " 

"  He  might  marry  the  girl  I'm  in  love  with,  and,  in 
that  case,  I'd  have  to  be  excused." 

"Where  shall  we  walk  to  this  morning?  "  she  asked 
abruptly.     He  had  drawn  closer  to  her  in  the  roadway. 
"  Is  it  too  far  to  the  old  stone  mill?     That's  where 
I  first  saw  you,  if  you  remember." 

"  Yes,  let  us  go  there,"  she  said,  but  her  heart  sank. 
She  knew  what  was  coming.  Perhaps  it  were  best  to 


240          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

have  it  over  with ;  to  put  it  away  with  the  things  that 
were  to  always  be  her  lost  treasures.  It  would  mean  the 
end  of  their  companionship,  the  end  of  a  love  dream. 
She  would  have  to  lie  to  him:  to  tell  him  she  did  not 
love  him. 

One  would  go  many  a  fruitless  day  in  quest  of  a 
more  attractive  pair  than  they  as  they  strode  swiftly 
down  the  shady  road.  They  lagged  not,  for  they  were 
strong  and  healthy,  and  walking  was  a  joy  to  them, 
not  an  exercise.  She  kept  pace  beside  him,  with  her 
free  stride ;  half  a  head  shorter  than  he,  she  did  not 
demand  it  of  him  that  he  should  moderate  his  stride 
to  suit  hers.  He  was  tall  and  long-limbed,  but  not 
camel-like  in  his  manner  of  walking,  as  so  many  tall 
men  are  apt  to  be.  His  eyes  were  bright  with  the  ex 
citement  that  predicted  a  no  uncertain  encounter,  al 
though  he  had  no  definite  purpose  in  mind.  There  was 
something  singularly  wistful,  unfathomable,  in  her  vel 
vety  blue  eyes  that  gave  him  hope,  he  knew  not  why. 

Coming  to  the  jog  in  the  broad  macadam,  they  were 
striking  off  into  the  narrow  road  that  led  to  the  quaint 
old  mill,  long  since  abandoned  in  the  forest  glade  be 
yond,  when  their  attention  was  drawn  to  a  motor-car, 
which  was  slowing  down  for  the  turn  into  Sara's  do 
main.  A  cloud  of  dust  swam  in  the  air  far  behind  the 
machine. 

A  bare-headed  man  on  the  seat  beside  the  driver, 
waved  his  hand  to  them,  and  two  women  in  the  tonneau 
bowed  gravely.  Both  Hetty  and  Booth  flushed  uncom 
fortably,  and  hesitated  in  their  progress  up  the  forest 
road. 

The  man  was  Leslie  Wrandall.  His  mother  and  sis 
ter  were  in  the  back  seat  of  the  touring  car. 

"  Why  —  why,  it  was  Leslie,"  cried  Booth,  looking 


over  his  shoulder  at  the  rapidly  receding  car.  "  Shall 
we  turn  back,  Miss  Castleton?  " 

"  No,"  she  cried  instantly,  with  something  like  im 
patience  in  her  voice.  "And  spoil  our  walk?"  she 
added  in  the  next  breath,  adding  a  nervous  little  laugh. 

"  It  seems  rather  — "  he  began  dubiously. 

"  Oh,  let  us  have  our  day,"  she  cried  sharply,  and 
led  the  way  into  the  by-road. 

They  came,  in  the  course  of  a  quarter-of-an-hour,  to 
the  bridge  over  the  mill-race.  Beyond,  in  the  mossy 
shades,  stood  a  dilapidated,  centurion  structure  known 
as  Rangely's  Mill,  a  landmark  with  a  history  that  in 
cluded  incidents  of  the  revolutionary  war,  when  eager 
patriots  held  secret  meetings  inside  its  walls  and  plot 
ted  under  the  very  noses  of  Tory  adherents  to  the 
crown. 

Pausing  for  a  few  minutes  on  the  bridge,  they  leaned 
on  the  rail  and  looked  down  into  the  clear,  mirror-like 
water  of  the  race.  Their  own  eyes  looked  up  at  them ; 
they  smiled  into  their  own  faces.  And  a  fleecy  white 
cloud  passed  over  the  glittering  stream  and  swept 
through  their  faces,  off  to  the  bank,  and  was  gone 
for  ever. 

Suddenly  he  looked  up  from  the  water  and  fixed  his 
eyes  on  her  face.  He  had  seen  her  clear  blue  eyes  fill 
with  tears  as  he  gazed  into  them  from  the  rail  above. 

"Oh,  my  dear!"  he  cried.     "What  is  it?" 

She  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes  as  she  quickly 
turned  away.  In  another  instant,  she  was  smiling  up 
at  him,  a  soft,  pleading  little  smile  that  went  straight 
to  his  heart. 

"  Shall  we  start  back?  "  she  asked,  a  quaver  in  her 
voice. 

"  No,"  he  exclaimed.     "  I've  got  to  go   on  with  it 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

now,  Hetty.  I  didn't  intend  to,  but  —  come,  let  us  go 
up  and  sit  on  that  familiar  old  log  in  the  shade  of  the 
mill.  You  must,  dear !  " 

She  suffered  him  to  lead  her  up  the  steep  bank  be 
yond  and  through  the  rocks  and  rotten  timbers  to  the 
great  beam  that  protruded  from  the  shattered  founda 
tions  of  the  mill.  The  rickety  old  wheel,  weather-beaten 
and  sad,  rose  above  them  and  threatened  to  topple  over 
if  they  so  much  as  touched  its  flimsy  supports. 

He  did  not  release  her  hand  after  drawing  her  up 
beside  him.  , 

"  You  must  know  that  I  love  you,"  he  said  simply. 

She  made  no  response.  Her  hand  lay  limp  in  his. 
She  was  staring  straight  before  her. 

"  You  do  know  it,  don't  you  ?  "  he  went  on. 

"  I  —  God  knows  I  don't  want  you  to  love  me.  I 
never  meant  that  you  should  — "  she  was  saying,  as  if 
to  herself. 

"  I  suppose  it's  hopeless,"  he  said  dumbly,  as  her 
voice  trailed  off  in  a  whisper. 

"  Yes,  it  is  utterly  hopeless,"  she  said,  and  she  was 
white  to  the  lips. 

"I  —  I  shan't  say  anything  more,"  said  he.  "  Of 
course,  I  understand  how  it  is.  There's  some  one  else. 
Only  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  love  you  with  all  my 
soul,  Hetty.  I  —  I  don't  see  how  I'm  going  to  get  on 
without  you.  But  I  —  I  won't  distress  you,  dear." 

"  There  isn't  any  one  else,  Brandon,"  she  said  in  a 
very  low  voice.  Her  fingers  tightened  on  his  in  a  sort 
of  desperation.  "  I  know  what  you  are  thinking.  It 
isn't  Leslie.  It  never  can  be  Leslie." 

"  Then, —  then  — "  he  stammered,  the  blood  surging 
back  into  his  heart  — "  there  may  be  a  chance  — " 

"  No,  no !  "  she  cried,  almost  vehemently.     "  I  can't 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  MILL 

let  you  go  on  hoping.  It  is  wrong  —  so  terribly  wrong, 
You  must  forget  me.  You  must  — " 

He  seized  her  other  hand  and  held  them  both  firmly, 
masterfully. 

"  See  here,  my  —  look  at  me,  dearest !  What  is 
wrong?  Tell  me !  You  are  unhappy.  Don't  be  afraid 
to  tell  me.  You  —  you  do  love  me?  " 

She  drew  a  long  breath  through  her  half-closed  lips. 
Her  eyes  darkened  with  pain. 

"  No.  I  don't  love  you.  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  to  have 
given  you  — " 

He  was  almost  radiant.  "  Tell  me  the  truth,"  he 
cried  triumphantly.  "  Don't  hold  anything  back,  dar 
ling.  If  there  is  anything  troubling  you,  let  me  shoul 
der  it.  I  can  —  I  will  do  anything  in  the  world  for  you. 
Listen:  I  know  there's  a  mystery  somewhere.  I  have 
felt  it  about  you  always.  I  have  seen  it  in  your  eyes, 
I  have  always  sensed  it  stealing  over  me  when  I'm  with 
you  —  this  strange,  bewildering  atmosphere  of  — " 

"  Hush !  You  must  not  say  anything  more,"  she 
cried  out.  "  I  cannot  love  you.  There  is  nothing; 
more  to  be  said." 

"  But  I  know  it  now.  You  do  love  me.  I  could 
shout  it  to  —  The  miserable,  whipped  expression  in 
her  eyes  checked  this  outburst.  He  was  struck  by  it. 
even  dismayed.  "  My  dearest  one,  my  love,"  he  said, 
with  infinite  tenderness,  "  what  is  it  ?  Tell  me !  " 

He  drew  her  to  him.  His  arm  went  about  her  shoul 
ders.  The  final  thrill  of  ecstasy  bounded  through  his 
veins.  The  feel  of  her!  The  wonderful,  subtle,  fem 
inine  feel  of  her!  His  brain  reeled  in  a  new  and  vast 
whirl  of  intoxication. 

She  sat  there  very  still  and  unresisting,  her  hand  to 
her  lips,  uttering  no  word,  scarcely  breathing.  He 


244          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

waited.  He  gave  her  time.  After  a  little  while  her 
fingers  strayed  to  the  crown  of  her  limp,  rakish  pan- 
ama.  They  found  the  single  hat-pin  and  drew  it  out. 
He  smiled  as  he  pushed  the  hat  away  and  then  pressed 
her  dark  little  head  against  his  breast.  Her  blue  eyes 
were  swimming. 

"  Just  this  once,  just  this  once,"  she  murmured  with 
a  sob  in  her  voice.  Her  hand  stole  upward  and 
caressed  his  brown  cheek  and  throat.  Tears  of  joy 
started  in  his  eyes  —  tears  of  exquisite  delight. 

"  Good  God,  Hetty,  I  —  I  can't  do  without  you,"  he 
whispered,  shaken  by  his  passion.  "  Nothing  can  come 
between  us.  I  must  have  you  always  like  this." 

"  Che  sard,  sard,"  she  sighed,  like  the  breath  of  the 
summer  wind  as  it  sings  in  the  trees. 

The  minutes  passed  and  neither  spoke.  His  rapt 
gaze  hung  upon  the  glossy  crown  that  pressed  against 
him  so  gently.  He  could  not  see  her  eyes,  but  somehow 
he  felt  they  were  tightly  shut,  as  if  in  pain. 

"  I  love  you,  Hetty.  Nothing  can  matter,"  he  whis 
pered  at  last.  "  Tell  me  what  it  is." 

She  lifted  her  head  and  gently  withdrew  herself  from 
his  embrace.  He  did  not  oppose  her,  noting  the  serious, 
almost  sombre  look  in  her  eyes  as  she  turned  to  regard 
him  steadfastly,  an  unwavering  integrity  of  purpose  in 
their  depths. 

She  had  made  up  her  mind  to  tell  him  a  part  of  the 
truth.  "  Brandon,  I  am  Hetty  Glynn." 

He  started,  not  so  much  in  surprise  as  at  the  abrupt 
ness  with  which  she  made  the  announcement. 

"  I  have  been  sure  of  it,  dear,  from  the  beginning," 
he  said  quietly. 

Then  her  tongue  was  loosed.  The  words  rushed  to 
her  lips.  "  I  was  Hawkright's  model  for  six  months. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  MILL       245 

I  posed  for  all  those  studies,  and  for  the  big  canvas  in 
the  academy.  It  was  either  that  or  starvation.  Oh, 
you  will  hate  me  —  you  must  hate  me." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  her  hair,  a  calm  smile  on  his  lips. 
"  I  can't  love  and  hate  at  the  same  time,"  he  said. 
"  There  was  nothing  wrong  in  what  you  did  for  Hawk- 
right.  I  am  a  painter,  you  know.  I  understand. 
Does  —  does  Mrs.  Wrandall  know  all  this?  " 

"  Yes  —  everything.  She  knows  and  understands. 
She  is  an  angel,  Brandon,  an  angel  from  heaven.  But," 
she  burst  forth,  "  I  am  not  altogether  a  sham.  I  am 
the  daughter  of  Colonel  Castleton,  and  I  am  the  cousin 
of  all  the  Murgatroyds, —  the  poor  relation.  It  isn't 
as  if  I  were  the  scum  of  the  earth,  is  it?  I  am  a  Cas 
tleton.  My  father  comes  of  a  noble  family.  And, 
Brandon,  the  only  thing  I've  ever  done  in  my  life  that 
I  am  really  ashamed  of  is  the  deception  I  practised  on 
you  when  you  brought  that  magazine  to  me  and  faced 
me  with  it.  I  did  not  lie  to  you.  I  simply  let  you  be 
lieve  I  was  not  the  —  the  person  you  thought  I  was. 
But  I  deceived  you — " 

"  No,  you  did  not  deceive  me,"  he  said  gently.  "  I 
read  the  truth  in  your  dear  eyes. 

"  There  are  other  things,  too.  I  shall  not  speak  of 
them,  except  to  repeat  that  I  have  not  done  anything 
else  in  all  my  life  that  I  should  be  ashamed  of."  Her 
eyes  were  burning  with  earnestness.  He  could  not  but 
understand  what  she  meant. 

Again  he  stroked  her  hair.  "  I  am  sure  of  that,"  he 
said. 

"  My  mother  was  Kitty  Glynn,  the  actress.  My 
father,  a  younger  son,  fell  in  love  with  her.  They  were 
married  against  the  wishes  of  his  father,  who  cut  him 
off.  He  was  in  the  service,  and  he  was  brave  enough  to 


246          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

stick.  They  went  to  one  of  the  South  African  gar 
risons,  and  I  was  born  there.  Then  to  India.  Then 
back  to  London,  where  an  aunt  had  died,  leaving  my 
father  quite  a  comfortable  fortune.  But  his  old  friends 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  him.  He  had  lived  — 
well,  he  had  made  life  a  hell  for  my  mother  in  those 
frontier  posts.  He  deserted  us  in  the  end,  after  he  had 
squandered  the  fortune.  My  mother  made  no  effort  to 
compel  him  to  provide  for  her  or  for  me.  She  was 
proud.  She  was  hurt.  To-day  he  is  in  India,  still  in 
the  service,  a  martinet  with  a  record  for  bravery  on  the 
field  of  battle  that  cannot  be  taken  from  him,  no  matter 
what  else  may  befall.  I  hear  from  him  once  or  twice  a 
year.  That  is  all  I  can  tell  you  about  him.  My 
mother  died  three  years  ago,  after  two  years  of  invalid- 
ism.  During  those  years  I  tried  to  repay  her  for  the 
sacrifice  she  had  made  in  giving  me  the  education, 
the — "  She  choked  up  for  a  second,  and  then  went 
bravely  on.  "  Her  old  manager  made  a  place  for  me 
in  one  of  his  companies.  I  took  my  mother's  name, 
Hetty  Glynn,  and  —  well,  for  a  season  and  a  half  I 
was  in  the  chorus.  I  could  not  stay  there.  I  coidd 
not,"  she  repeated  with  a  shudder.  "I  gave  it  up  after 
my  mother's  death.  I  was  fairly  well  equipped  for 
work  as  a  children's  governess,  so  I  engaged  myself 
to—" 

She  stopped  in  dismay  for  he  was  laughing. 

"  And  now  do  you  know  what  I  think  of  you,  Miss 
Hetty  Glynn?  "  he  cried,  seizing  her  hands  and  regard 
ing  her  with  a  serious,  steadfast  gleam  in  his  eyes. 
"  You  are  the  pluckiest,  sandiest  girl  I've  ever  known. 
You  are  the  kind  that  heroines  are  made  of.  There  is 
nothing  in  what  you've  told  me  that  could  in  the  least 
alter  my  regard  for  you,  except  to  increase  the  love  I 


"If  I  loved  you  less  than  I  do,  I  might  say  yes" 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  MILL        247 

thought  could  not  be  stronger.  Will  you  marry  me, 
Hetty?" 

She  jerked  her  hands  away,  and  held  them  clenched 
against  her  breast. 

"  No !  I  cannot.  It  is  impossible,  Brandon.  If  I 
loved  you  less  than  I  do,  I  might  say  yes,  but  —  no,  it 
is  impossible." 

His  eyes  narrowed.  A  grey  shadow  crept  over  his 
face. 

"  There  can  be  only  one  obstacle  so  serious  as  all 
that,"  he  said  slowly.  "  You  —  you  are  already  mar 
ried." 

"  No ! "  she  cried,  lifting  her  pathetic  eyes  to  his. 
"  It  isn't  that.  Oh,  please  be  good  to  me !  Don't  ask 
me  to  say  anything  more.  Don't  make  it  hard  for  me, 
Brandon.  I  love  you  —  I  love  you.  To  be  your  wife 
would  be  the  most  glorious  —  No,  no  !  I  must  not  even 
think  of  it.  I  must  put  it  out  of  my  mind.  There  is 
a  barrier,  dearest.  We  cannot  surmount  it.  Don't 
ask  me  to  tell  you,  for  I  cannot.  I  —  I  am  so  happy 
in  knowing  that  you  love  me,  and  that  you  still  love  me 
after  I  have  told  you  how  mean  and  shameless  I  was  in 
deceiving  — " 

He  drew  her  close  and  kissed  her  full  on  the 
trembling  lips.  She  gasped  and  closed  her  eyes,  lying 
like  one  in  a  swoon.  Soft,  moaning  sounds  came  from 
her  lips.  He  could  not  help  feeling  a  vast  pity  for  her, 
she  was  so  gentle,  so  miserably  hurt  by  something  he 
could  not  understand,  but  knew  to  be  monumental  in  its 
power  to  oppress. 

"  Listen,  dearest,"  he  said,  after  a  long  silence ;  "  I 
understand  this  much,  at  least:  you  can't  talk  about  it 
now.  Whatever  it  is,  it  hurts,  and  God  knows  I  don't 
want  to  make  it  worse  for  you  in  this  hour  when  I  am  so 


248 

selfishly  happy.  Time  will  show  us  the  way.  It  can't 
be  insurmountable.  Love  always  triumphs.  I  only 
ask  you  to  repeat  those  three  little  words,  and  I  will 
be  content.  Say  them." 

"  I  love  you,"  she  murmured. 

"  There !  You  are  mine !  Three  little  words  bind 
you  to  me  for  ever.  I  will  wait  until  the  barrier  is 
down.  Then  I  will  take  you." 

"  The  barrier  grows  stronger  every  day,"  she  said, 
staring  out  beyond  the  tree-tops  at  the  scudding  clouds. 
"  It  never  can  be  removed." 

"  Some  day  you  will  tell  me  —  everything?  " 

She  hesitated  long.  "  Yes,  before  God,  Brandon,  I 
will  tell  you.  Not  now,  but  —  some  day.  Then  you 
will  see  why  —  why  I  cannot  — "  She  could  not  com 
plete  the  sentence. 

"  I  don't  believe  there  is  anything  you  can  tell  me 
that  will  alter  my  feelings  toward  you,"  he  said  firmly. 
"  The  barrier  may  be  insurmountable,  but  my  love  is 
everlasting." 

"  I  can  only  thank  you,  dear,  and  —  love  you  with 
all  my  wretched  heart." 

"  You  are  not  pledged  to  some  one  else?  " 

"  No." 

"  That's  all  I  want  to  know,"  he  said,  with  a  deep 
breath.  "  I  thought  it  might  be  —  Leslie." 

"  No,  no ! "  she  cried  out,  and  he  caught  a  note  of 
horror  in  her  voice. 

"  Does  —  does  he  know  this  —  this  thing  you  can't 
tell  me?  "  he  demanded,  a  harsh  note  of  jealousy  in  his 
voice. 

She  looked  up  at  him,  hurt  by  his  tone.  "  Sara 
knows,"  she  said.  "  There  is  no  one  else.  But  you 
are  not  to  question  her.  I  demand  it  of  you." 

"  I  will  wait  for  you  to  tell  me,"  he  said  gently. 


CHAPTER    XV 

SARA    WRANDALL    FINDS    THE    TRUTH 

SARA  had  kept  the  three  Wrandalls  over  for  luncheon. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Redmond  Wrand'all,  as  she 
stood  before  Hetty's  portrait  at  the  end  of  the  long 
living-room,  "  I  must  say  that  Brandon  has  succeeded 
in  catching  that  lovely  little  something  that  makes 
her  so  —  what  shall  I  say  ?  —  so  mysterious  ?  Is  that 
what  I  want?  The  word  is  as  elusive  as  the  expres 
sion." 

"  Subtle  is  the  word  you  want,  mother,"  said  Vivian, 
standing  beside  Leslie,  tall,  slim  and  aristocratic,  her 
hands  behind  her  back,  her  manner  one  of  absolute  in 
difference.  Vivian  was  more  than  handsome;  she  was 
striking. 

"  There  isn't  anything  subtle  about  Hetty,"  said 
Sara,  with  a  laugh.  "  She's  quite  ingenuous." 

Leslie  was  pulling  at  his  moustache,  and  frowning 
slightly.  The  sunburn  on  his  nose  and  forehead  had 
begun  to  peel  off  in  chappy  little  flakes. 

"  Ripping  likeness,  though,"  was  his  comment. 

"  Oh,  perfect,"  said  his  mother.  "  Really  wonder 
ful.  It  will  make  Brandon  famous." 

"  She's  so  healthy-looking,"  said  Vivian. 

"  English,"  remarked  Leslie,  as  if  that  covered 
everything. 

"  Nonsense,"  cried  the  elder  Mrs.  Wrandall,  lift 
ing  her  lorgnette  again.  "  Pure,  honest,  unmixed 
blood,  that's  what  it  is.  There  is  birth  in  that  girl's 
face." 

249 


250          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  You're  always  talking  about  birth,  mother,"  said 
her  son  sourly,  as  he  turned  away. 

"  It's  a  good  thing  to  have,"  said  his  mother  with 
conviction. 

"  It's  an  easy  thing  to  get  in  America,"  said  he,  pull 
ing  out  his  cigarette  case.  "  Have  a  cigarette,  mother  ? 
Sara?" 

"  I'll  take  one,  Les,"  said  Vivian.  She  selected  one 
and  passed  the  case  on  to  her  mother.  Sara  shook 
her  head. 

"  No,  thanks,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Redmond  Wrandall  laid  her  cigarette  down 
without  attempting  to  light  it,  a  sudden  frostiness  in 
her  manner.  Vivian  and  Leslie  blew  long  plumes  of 
smoke  from  the  innermost  recesses  of  their  lungs. 

"  Nerves  ?  "  asked  Vivian  mildly. 

"  I  don't  like  Leslie's  brand,"  explained  Sara. 

"  They're  excellent,  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Wrandall, 
and  thereupon  accepted  a  light  from  Leslie. 

"Well,  let's  be  off,"  said  he,  somewhat  irritably. 
"  Tell  Miss  Castleton  we're  sorry  to  have  missed  her." 

It  was  then  that  Sara  prevailed  upon  them  to  stop 
for  luncheon.  "  She  always  takes  these  long  walks 
in  the  morning,  and  she  will  be  disappointed  if  she 
finds  you  haven't  waited  — " 

"  Oh,  as  for  that  — "  began  Leslie  and  stopped,  but 
he  could  not  have  been  more  lucid  if  he  had  uttered 
the  sentence  in  full. 

"  Why  didn't  you  pick  her  up  and  bring  her  home 
with  you?"  asked  Sara,  as  they  moved  off  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  porch. 

"  She  seemed  to  be  taking  Brandy  out  for  his  morn 
ing  exercise,"  said  he  surlily.  "  Far  be  it  from  me 
to—  Umph!" 


SARA  WRANDALL  FINDS  THE  TRUTH     251 

Sara  repressed  the  start  of  surprise.  She  thought 
Hetty  was  alone. 

"  She  will  bring  him  in  for  luncheon,  I  suppose,"1 
she  said  carelessly,  although  there  was  a  slight  con 
traction  of  the  eyelids.  "  He  is  a  privileged  char 
acter." 

It  was  long  past  the  luncheon  hour  when  Hetty  came 
in,  flushed  and  warm.  She  was  alone  and  she  had 
been  walking  rapidly. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  to  be  late,"  she  apologised, 
darting  a  look  of  anxiety  at  Sara.  "  We  grew  care 
less  with  time.  Am  I  shockingly  late?  " 

She  was  shaking  hands  with  Mrs.  Redmond  Wran- 
dall  as  she  spoke.  Leslie  and  Vivian  stood  by,  rigidly 
awaiting  their  turn.  Neither  appeared  to  be  espe 
cially  cordial. 

"  What  is  the  passing  of  an  hour,  my  dear,"  said 
the  old  lady,  "  to  one  who  is  young  and  can  spare  it?  " 

"  I  did  not  expect  you  —  I  mean  to  say,  nothing 
was  said  about  luncheon,  was  there,  Sara?  "  She  was 
in  a  pretty  state  of  confusion. 

"  No,"  said  Leslie,  breaking  in  ;  "  we  butted  in,  that's 
all.  How  are  you  ?  "  He  clasped  her  hand  and  bent 
over  it.  She  was  regarding  him  with  slightly  dilated 
eyes.  He  misinterpreted  the  steady  scrutiny.  "  Oh, 
it  will  all  peel  off  in  a  day  or  two,"  he  explained,  going 
a  shade  redder. 

"  When  did  you  return  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  thought 
to-morrow  was  — " 

"  Leslie  never  has  any  to-morrows,  Miss  Castle- 
ton,"  explained  Vivian.  "  He  always  does  to-mor 
row's  work  to-day.  That's  why  he  never  has  any 
troubles  ahead  of  him." 

"  What  rot !  "  exclaimed  Leslie. 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"Where  is  Mr.  Booth?  "  inquired  Sara.  "Wouldn't 
he  come  in,  Hetty  ?  " 

"I  —  I  didn't  think  to  ask  him  to  stop  for  lunch 
eon,"  she  replied,  and  then  hurried  off  to  her  room  to 
make  herself  presentable. 

"  Don't  be  long,"  called  out  Sara. 

"  We  are  starving,"  added  Vivian. 

"  Vivian !  "  exclaimed  her  mother,  in  a  shocked  voice. 

"  Well,  7  am,"  declared  her  daughter  promptly. 

"  You  know  you  never  eat  anything  in  the  middle 
of  the  day,"  said  her  mother,  frowning.  As  Sara  was 
paying  no  attention  to  their  remarks,  Mrs.  Wrandall 
was  obliged  to  deliver  the  supplemental  explanation 
to  Leslie,  who  hadn't  the  remotest  interest  in  the  mat 
ter.  "  She's  so  silly  about  getting  fat." 

Hetty  was  in  a  state  of  nervous  excitement  during 
the  luncheon.  The  encounter  with  Booth  had  not  re 
sulted  at  all  as  she  had  fancied  it  would.  She  had 
betrayed  herself  in  a  most  disconcerting  manner,  and 
now  was  more  deeply  involved  than  ever  before.  She 
had  been  determined  at  the  outset,  she  had  failed,  and 
now  he  had  a  claim  —  an  incontestable  claim  against 
her.  She  found  it  difficult  to  meet  Sara's  steady,  ques 
tioning  gaze.  She  wanted  to  be  alone. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  heard  nothing  recent  from 
poor  Lord  Murgatroyd,"  Mrs.  Wrandall  was  saying 
to  her,  in  a  most  sympathetic  tone. 

Hetty  scarcely  grasped  the  importance  of  the  re 
mark.  She  looked  rather  blankly  at  their  guest. 

Sara  stepped  into  the  breach.  "  What  do  the  morn 
ing  despatches  say,  Mrs.  Wrandall?  " 

"He  is  sinking  rapidly,  I  fear.  Of  course,  his  ex 
treme  age  is  against  him.  How  old  is  he,  Miss  Cas- 
tleton?" 


SARA  WRANDALL  FINDS  THE  TRUTH     253 

"I  —  I  haven't  the  remotest  idea,  Mrs.  Wrandall," 
said  the  girl.  "  He  is  very,  very  old." 

"  Ninety-two,   the  Sun   says,"   supplied  Vivian. 

There  was  an  unaccountable  silence. 

"  I  suppose  there  is  —  ah  —  really  no  hope,"  said 
Mrs.  Redmond  Wrandall  at  last. 

"  I  fear  not,"  said  Hetty  composedly.  "  Except 
for  the  heirs-at-law." 

Mrs.  Wrandall  sat  up  a  little  straighter  in  her 
chair.  "  Dear  me,"  she  said. 

"  They've  been  waiting  for  a  good  many  years," 
commented  Hetty,  without  emotion.  "  Of  course, 
Mrs.  Wrandall,  you  understand  that  I  am  not  one 
of  those  who  will  profit  by  his  death.  The  estate  is. 
entailed.  I  am  quite  outside  the  walls." 

"  I  did  not  know  the  —  ah  — " 

"  My  father  may  come  in  for  a  small  interest.  He 
is  in  England  at  present  on  furlough.  But  there  are 
a  great  many  near  relatives  to  be  fed  before  the  bowl 
of  plenty  gets  to  him." 

"  Dear,  dear ! "  murmured  Mrs.  Wrandall,  quite  ap 
palled  by  her  way  of  putting  it.  Leslie  looked  at 
her  and  coughed.  "  What  a  delicious  dressing  you 
have  for  these  alligator  pears,  Sara,"  she  went  on, 
veering  quickly.  "  You  must  tell  me  how  it  is  made." 

After  luncheon,  Leslie  drew  Sara  aside. 

"I  must  say  she  doesn't  seem  especially  overjoyed 
to  see  me,"  he  growled.  "  She's  as  cool  as  ice." 

"What  do  you  expect,  Leslie?"  she  demanded  with 
some  asperity. 

"  I  can't  stand  this  much  longer,  Sara,"  he  said. 
"  Don't  you  see  how  things  are  going  ?  She's  losing 
her  heart  to  Booth." 

"  I  don't   see  how  we  can  prevent  it." 


254.          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 


,  I'll  have   another  try   at  it  —  to-night. 
I  say,  has  she  said  —  anything?  " 

"  She  pities  you,"  said  she,  a  malicious  joy  in  her 
soul.  "  That's  akin  to  something  else,  you  know." 

"  Confound  it  all,  I  don't  want  to  be  pitied  !  " 

"  Then  I'd  advise  you  to  defer  your  *  try  '  at  it," 
she  remarked. 

"I'm  mad  about  her,  Sara.  I  can't  sleep,  I  can't 
think,  I  can't  —  yes,  I  can  eat,  but  it  doesn't  taste 
right  to  me.  I've  just  got  to  have  it  settled.  Why, 
people  are  beginning  to  notice  the  change  in  me.  They 
say  all  sorts  of  things.  About  my  liver,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  I'm  going  to  settle  it  to-night.  It's 
been  nearly  three  weeks  now.  She's  surely  had  time 
to  think  it  over;  how  much  better  everything  will  be 
for  her,  and  all  that.  She's  no  fool,  Sara.  And  do 
you  know  what  Vivian's  doing  this  very  instant  over 
there  in  the  corner?  She's  inviting  her  to  spend  a 
fortnight  over  at  our  place.  If  she  comes,  —  well,  that 
means  the  engagement  will  be  announced  at  once." 

Sara  did  not  marvel  at  his  assurance  in  the  face  of 
what  had  gone  before.  She  knew  him  too  well.  In 
spite  of  the  original  rebuff,  he  was  thoroughly  satis 
fied  in  his  own  mind  that  Hetty  Castleton  would  not 
be  such  a  fool  as  to  refuse  him  the  second  time. 

"  It  is  barely  possible,  Leslie,"  she  said,  "  that  she 
may  consider  Brandon  Booth  quite  as  good  a  catch 
as  you,  and  infinitely  better  looking  at  the  present 
moment." 

"  It's  this  beastly  sunburn,"  he  lamented,  rubbing 
his  nose  gently,  thinking  first  of  his  person.  An  in 
stant  later  he  was  thinking  of  the  other  half  of  the 
declaration.  "  That's  just  what  I've  been  afraid  of," 
he  said.  "  I  told  you  what  would  happen  if  that  por- 


SARA  WRANDALL  FINDS  THE  TRUTH     255 

trait  nonsense  went  on  for  ever.    It's  your  fault,  Sara." 

"  But  I  have  reason  to  believe  she  will  not  accept 
him,  if  it  goes  so  far  as  that.  You  are  quite  safe 
in  that  direction." 

"  'Gad,  I'd  hate  to  risk  it,"  he  muttered.  "  I  have 
a  feeling  she's  in  love  with  him." 

Vivian  approached.  "  Sara,  you  must  let  me  have 
Miss  Castleton  for  the  first  two  weeks  in  July,"  she 
said  serenely. 

"  I  can't  do  it,  Vivian,"  said  the  other  promptly. 
"  I  can't  bear  the  thought  of  being  alone  in  this  big 
old  barn  of  a  place.  Nice  of  you  to  want  her,  but  — " 

"  Oh,  don't  be  selfish,  Sara,"  cried  Vivian. 

"  You  don't  know  how  much  I  depend  on  her,"  said 
Sara. 

"  I'd  ask  you  over,  too,  dear,  if  there  weren't  so 
many  others  coming.  I  don't  know  where  we're  going 
to  put  them.  You  understand,  don't  you?  " 

"  Perfectly,"   said  her   sister-in-law,   smiling. 

"  But  I've  been  counting  on  —  Hetty." 

"  I  say,  Sara,"  broke  in  Leslie,  "  you  could  go  up 
to  Bar  Harbour  with  the  Williamsons  at  that  time. 
Tell  her  about  the  invitation,  Vivie." 

"  It  isn't  necessary,"  said  Sara  coldly.  "  I  scarcely 
know  the  Williamsons."  She  hesitated  an  instant  and 
then  went  on  with  sardonic  dismay :  "  They're  in  trade, 
you  know." 

"That's  nothing  against  'em,"  protested  he. 
"Awfully  jolly  people  —  really  ripping.  Ain't  they, 
Viv?" 

"  I  don't  know  them  well  enough  to  say,"  said 
Vivian,  turning  away.  "  I  only  know  we're  all  snobs 
of  the  worst  sort." 

"  Just  a  minute,  Viv,"  he  called  out.     "  What  does 


256          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

Miss  Castleton  say  about  coming?  "  It  was  an  eager 
question.  Much  depended  on  the  reply. 

"  I  haven't  asked  her,"  said  his  sister  succinctly. 
"How  could  I,  without  first  consulting  Sara?" 

"  Then,  you  don't  intend  to  ask  her?  " 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  Oh,  I'll  fix  it  up  with  Sara,"  said  he  confidently. 
"Eh,  Sara?" 

"  I'd  suggest  that  you  '  fix  it  up  '  with  Miss  Cas 
tleton,"  said  Sara  pointedly. 

Vivian  shot  a  swift  glance  over  her  shoulder  at  her 
sister-in-law,  and  then  broke  into  a  good-humoured 
laugh.  She  joined  Hetty  and  Mrs.  Redmond  Wran- 
dall. 

"  Sometimes  I  feel  that  I  really  like  Vivian,"  ob 
served  Sara,  as  much  to  herself  as  to  Leslie.  "  She's 
above  the  board,  at  least." 

"  Disagreeable  as  the  devil  at  times,  though,"  said 
he,  biting  his  lip. 

After  the  Wrandalls  had  departed,  Sara  took  Hetty 
off  to  her  room.  The  girl  knew  what  was  coming. 

"  Hetty,"  said  the  older  woman,  facing  her  after 
she  had  closed  the  door  of  her  boudoir,  "  what  is  going 
on  between  you  and  Brandon  Booth?  I  must  have 
the  truth.  Are  you  doing  anything  foolish?  " 

"  Foolish  ?  Heaven  help  me,  no !  It  —  it  is  a 
tragedy,"  cried  Hetty,  meeting  her  gaze  with  one  of 
utter  despair. 

"What  has  happened?     Tell  me!" 

"What  am  I  to  do,  Sara  darling?  He  —  he  has 
told  me  that  he  —  he  — " 

"  Loves  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  have  told  him  that  his  love  is  returned  ?  " 


"  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  was  carried  away.  I  did 
not  mean  to  let  him  see  that  I — " 

"  You  are  such  a  novice  in  the  business  of  love," 
said  Sara  sneeringly.  "  You  are  in  the  habit  of  being 
carried  away,  I  fear." 

"  Oh,  Sara !  " 

"  You  must  put  a  stop  to  all  this  at  once.  How- 
can  you  think  of  marrying  him,  Hetty  Glynn?  Send 
him  — " 

"  I  do  not  intend  to  marry  him,"  said  the  girl,  sud 
denly  calm  and  dignified. 

"  I  am  to  draw  but  one  conclusion,  I  suppose,"  said 
the  other,  regarding  the  girl  intently. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Is  it  necessary  to  ask  that  question?  " 

The  puzzled  expression  remained  in  the  girl's  eyes 
for  a  time,  and  then  slowly  gave  way  to  one  of  ab 
solute  horror. 

"  How  dare  you  suggest  such  a  thing?  "  she  cried, 
turning  pale,  then  crimson.  "  How  dare  you?  " 

Sara  laughed  shortly.  "  Isn't  the  inference  a  nat 
ural  one?  You  are  forgetting  yourself." 

"  I  understand,"  said  the  girl,  through  pallid  lips. 
Her  eyes  were  dark  with  pain  and  misery.  "  You 
think  I  am  altogether  bad."  She  drooped  perceptibly. 

"  You  went  to  Burton's  Inn,"  sententiously. 

"  But,  Sara,  you  must  believe  me.  I  did  not  know 
he  was  —  married.  For  God's  sake,  do  me  the  jus 
tice  to  — " 

"  But  you  went  there  with  him,"  insisted  the  other, 
her  eyes  hard  as  steel.  "  It  doesn't  matter  whether 
he  was  married  —  or  free.  You  went" 

Hetty  threw  herself  upon  her  companion's  breast 
and  wound  her  strong  young  arms  about  her. 


258          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  Sara,  Sara,  you  must  let  me  explain  —  you  must 
let  me  tell  you  everything.  Don't  stop  me!  You  have 
refused  to  hear  my  plea  — " 

"  And  I  still  refuse ! "  cried  Sara,  throwing  her  off 
angrily.  "  Good  God,  do  you  think  I  will  listen  to 
you  ?  If  you  utter  another  word,  I  will  —  strangle 
you!" 

Hetty  shrank  back,  terrified.  Slowly  she  moved 
backward  in  the  direction  of  the  door,  never  taking  her 
eyes  from  the  impassioned  face  of  her  protector. 

"  Don't,  Sara,  please  don't !  "  she  begged.  "  Don't 
look  at  me  like  that !  I  promise  —  I  promise.  For 
give  me!  I  would  not  give  you  an  instant's  pain  for 
all  the  world.  You  would  suffer,  you  would — " 

Sara  suddenly  put  her  hands  over  her  eyes.  A 
single  moan  escaped  her  lips  —  a  hoarse  gasp  of  pain. 

"  Dearest !  "   cried  Hetty,  springing  to  her   side. 

Sara  threw  her  head  up  and  met  her  with  a  cold, 
repelling  look. 

"  Wait !  "  she  commanded.  "  The  time  has  come 
when  you  should  know  what  is  in  my  mind,  and  has 
been  for  months  and  months.  It  concerns  you.  I  ex 
pect  you  to  marry  Leslie  Wrandall." 

Hetty  stopped  short. 

"  How  can  you  jest  with  me,  Sara?  "  she  cried,  sud 
denly  indignant. 

"  I  am  not  jesting,"  said  Sara  levelly. 

"You  —  you  —  really  mean  —  what  you  have  just 
said  ?  "  The  puzzled  look  gave  way  to  one  of  revul 
sion.  A  great  shudder  swept  over  her. 

"  Leslie  Wrandall  must  pay  his  brother's  debt  to 
you." 

"  My  God !  "  fell  from  the  girl's  stiff  lips.  "  You  — 
you  must  be  going  mad  —  mad !  " 


SARA  WRANDALL  FINDS  THE  TRUTH     259 

Sara  laughed  softly.  "  I  have  meant  it  almost  from 
the  beginning1,"  she  said.  "  It  came  to  my  mind  the 
day  that  Challis  was  buried.  It  has  never  been  out 
of  it  for  an  instant  since  that  day.  Now  you  under 
stand.'7 

If  she  expected  Hetty  to  fall  into  a  fit  of  weeping-, 
to  collapse,  to  plead  with  her  for  mercy,  she  was  soon 
to  find  herself  mistaken.  The  girl  straightened  up 
suddenly  and  met  her  gaze  with  one  in  which  there 
was  the  fierce  determination.  Her  eyes  were  steady, 
her  bosom  heaved. 

"  And  I  have  loved  you  so  devotedly  —  so  blindly," 
she  said,  in  low  tones  of  scorn.  "  You  have  been  hat 
ing  me  all  these  months  while  I  thought  you  were 
loving  me.  What  a  fool  I  have  been!  I  might  have 
known.  You  couldn't  love  me." 

"  When  Leslie  asks  you  to-night  to  marry  him,  you 
are  to  say  that  you  will  do  so,"  said  Sara,  betraying 
no  sign  of  having  heard  the  bitter  words. 

"  I  shall  refuse,  Sara,"  said  Hetty,  every  vestige  of 
colour  gone  from  her  face. 

"  There  is  an  alternative,"  announced  the  other  de 
liberately. 

"You  will  expose  me  to  —  him?     To  his  family?" 

"  I  shall  turn  you  over  to  them,  to  let  them  do  what 
they  will  with  you.  If  you  go  as  his  wife,  the  secret 
is  safe.  If  not,  they  may  have  you  as  you  really  are, 
to  destroy,  to  annihilate.  Take  your  choice,  my 
dear." 

"And  you,  Sara?"  asked  the  girl  quietly.  "What 
explanation  will  you  have  to  offer  for  all  these  months 
of  protection?  " 

Her  companion  stared.  "  Has  the  prospect  no  ter 
ror  for  you?  " 


260          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  Not  now.  Not  since  I  have  found  you  out.  The 
thing  I  have  feared  all  along  has  come  to  pass.  I  am 
relieved,  now  that  you  show  me  just  where  I  truly 
stand.  But,  I  asked:  what  of  you?  " 

"  The  world  is  more  likely  to  applaud  than  to  curse 
me,  Hetty.  It  likes  a  new  sensation.  My  change  of 
heart  will  appear  quite  natural." 

"  Are  you  sure  that  the  world  will  applaud  your 
real  design?  You  hate  the  Wrandalls.  Will  they  be 
charitable  toward  you  when  the  truth  is  given  out? 
Will  Leslie  applaud  you?  Listen,  please:  I  am  try 
ing  to  save  you  from  yourself,  Sara.  You  will  fail 
in  everything  you  have  hoped  for.  You  will  be  more 
accursed  than  I.  The  world  will  pity  me,  it  may  even 
forgive  me.  It  will  listen  to  my  story,  which  is  more 
than  you  will  do,  and  it  will  believe  me.  Ah,  I  am 
not  afraid  now.  At  first  I  was  in  terror.  I  had  no 
hope  of  escape.  All  that  is  past.  To-day  I  am 
ready  to  take  my  chances  with  the  big,  generous  world. 
Men  will  try  me,  and  men  are  not  made  of  stone  and 
steel.  They  punish  but  they  do  not  avenge  when  they 
sit  in  jury  boxes.  They  are  not  women!  Good  God, 
Sara,  is  there  a  man  living  to-day  who  could  have 
planned  this  thing  you  have  cherished  all  these 
months?  Not  one!  And  all  men  will  curse  you  for 
it,  even  though  they  send  me  to  prison  or  to  the  — • 
chair.  But  they  will  not  condemn  me.  They  will  hear 
my  story  and  they  will  set  me  free.  And  then,  what 
of  you?" 

Sara  stood  perfectly  rigid,  regarding  this  earnest 
reasoner  with  growing  wonder. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  you  would  better  be  think 
ing  of  yourself,  not  of  me." 

"  Why,  when  I   tell   my   story,  the  world  will  hate 


SARA  WRANDALL  FINDS  THE  TRUTH     261 

you,  Sara  Wrandall.  You  have  helped  me,  you  have 
been  good  to  me,  no  matter  what  sinister  motive  you 
may  have  had  in  doing  so.  It  is  my  turn  to  help 
you." 

"  To  help  me !  "  cried  Sara,  astonished  in  spite  of 
herself. 

"  Yes.  To  save  you  from  execration  —  and  even 
worse." 

"  There  is  no  moral  wrong  in  marriage  with  Leslie 
Wrandall,"  said  Sara,  returning  to  her  own  project. 

"  No  moral  wrong !  "  cried  Hetty,  aghast.  "  No, 
I  suppose  not,"  she  went  on,  a  moment  later.  "  It  is 
something  much  deeper,  much  blacker  than  moral 
wrong.  There  is  no  word  for  it.  And  if  I  marry 
him,  what  then?  Wherein  lies  your  triumph?  You 
can't  mean  that  —  God  in  Heaven !  You  would  not 
go  to  them  with  the  truth  when  it  was  too  late  for 
him  to  —  to  cast  me  off !  " 

"  I  am  no  such  fool  as  that.  The  secret  would  be 
for  ever  safe  in  that  event.  My  triumph,  as  you  call 
it,  we  will  not  discuss." 

"  How  you  must  hate  me,  to  be  willing  to  do  such 
an  infamous  thing  to  me ! " 

"  I  do  not  hate  you,  Hetty." 

"  In  heaven's  name,  what  do  you  call  it?  " 

"  Justification.  Listen  to  me  now.  I  am  saying 
this  for  your  good  sense  to  seize  and  appreciate. 
Would  it  be  right  in  me  to  allow  you  to  marry  any 
other  man,  knowing  all  that  I  know?  There  is  but 
one  man  you  can  in  justice  marry:  the  one  who  can 
repair  the  wreck  that  his  own  blood  created.  Not 
Brandon  Booth,  nor  any  man  save  Leslie  Wrandall. 
He  is  the  man  who  must  pay." 

"  I  do  not  intend  to  marry,"  said  Hetty. 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  But  Leslie  will  marry  some  one,  and  I  intend  that 
it  shall  be  you.  He  shall  marry  the  ex-chorus  girl, 
the  artist's  model,  the  —  the  prostitute !  Wait !  Don't 
fly  at  me  like  that !  Don't  assume  that  look  of  vir 
tuous  horror!  Let  me  say  what  I  have  to  say.  This 
much  of  your  story  shall  they  know,  and  no  more. 
They  will  be  proud  of  you ! " 

Hetty's  eyes  were  blazing.  "  You  use  that  name  — 
you  call  me  that  —  and  yet  you  have  kissed  me,  ca 
ressed  me  —  loved  me !  "  she  cried  hoarse  with  passion. 

"  He  will  ask  you  to-night  for  the  second  time. 
You  will  accept  him.  That  is  all." 

"You  must  take  back  what  you  have  just  said  to 
me  —  of  me, —  Sara  Wrandall.  You  must  unsay  it ! 
You  must  beg  my  pardon  for  that!  " 

"  I  draw  no  line  between  mistress  and  prostitute." 

"But  I—" 

"Enough!" 

"  You  wrong  me  vilely !     You  must  let  me  — " 

"  I  have  an  excellent  memory,  and  it  serves  me  well." 

Hetty  suddenly  threw  herself  upon  the  couch  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  arms.  Great  sobs  shook  her 
slender  frame. 

Sara  stood  over  her  and  watched  for  a  long  time 
with  pitiless  eyes.  Then  a  queer,  uneasy,  wondering 
light  began  to  develop  in  those  dark,  ominous  eyes. 
She  leaned  forward  the  better  to  listen  to  the  choked, 
inarticulate  words  that  were  pouring  from  the  girl's 
lips.  At  last,  moved  by  some  power  she  could  not 
have  accounted  for,  she  knelt  beside  the  quivering  body, 
and  laid  her  hand,  almost  timorously,  upon  the  girl's 
shoulder. 

"  Hetty, —  Hetty,  if  I  have  wronged  you  in  —  in 
thinking  that  of  you, —  I  —  I  — "  she  began  brokenly. 


SARA  WRANDALL  FINDS  THE  TRUTH     263 

Then  she  lifted  her  eyes,  and  the  harsh  light  tried  to 
steal  back  into  them.  "  No,  no!  What  am  I  saying? 
What  a  fool  I  am  to  give  way  — " 

"  You  have  wronged  me  —  terribly,  terribly !  "  came 
in  smothered  tones  from  the  cushions.  "  I  did  not 
dream  you  thought  that  of  me." 

"What  was  I  to  think?" 

Hetty  lifted  her  head  and  cried  out :  "  You  would 
not  let  me  speak!  You  refused  to  hear  my  story. 
You  have  been  thinking  this  of  me  all  along,  holding 
it  against  me,  damning  me  with  it,  and  I  have  been 
closer  to  you  than  —  My  God,  what  manner  of 
woman  are  you?" 

Sara  seized  her  hands  and  held  them  in  a  fierce, 
tense  grip.  Her  eyes  were  glowing  with  a  strange  fire. 

"  Tell  me  —  tell  me  now,  on  your  soul,  Hetty ; — 
were  you  —  were  you  — " 

"  No !     No !     On  my  soul,  no !  " 

"  Look  into  my  eyes !  " 

The  girl's  eyes  did  not  falter.  She  met  the  dark, 
penetrating  gaze  of  the  other  and,  though  dimmed  by 
tears,  her  blue  eyes  were  steadfast  and  resolute.  Sara 
seemed  to  be  searching  the  very  soul  of  her,  the  soul 
that  laid  itself  bare,  denuded  of  every  vestige  of  guile. 

"I  —  I  think  I  believe  you,"  came  slowly  from  the 
lips  of  the  searcher.  "  You  are  looking  the  truth. 
I  can  see  it.  Hetty,  Hetty,  I  —  I  don't  understand 
myself.  It  is  so  —  so  overwhelming,  so  tremendous. 
It  is  so  incredible.  Am  I  really  believing  you?  Is 
it  possible  that  I  have  been  wrong  in  — " 

"  Let  me  tell  you  everything,"  cried  the  girl,  sud 
denly  throwing  her  arms  about  her. 

"  Not  now !  Wait !  Give  me  time  to  think.  Go 
away  now.  I  want  to  be  alone."  She  arose  and 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

pushed  the  girl  toward  the  door.  Her  eyes  were  fixed 
on  her  in  a  wondering,  puzzled  sort  of  way,  and  she 
was  shaking  her  head  as  if  trying  to  discredit  the 
new  emotion  that  had  come  to  displace  the  one  cre 
ated  ages  ago. 

Slowly  Hetty  Castleton  retreated  toward  the  door. 
With  her  hand  on  the  knob,  she  paused. 

"  After  what  has  happened,  Sara,  you  must  not  ex 
pect  me  to  stay  with  you  any  longer.  I  cannot.  You 
may  give  me  up  to  the  law,  but  — " 

Some  one  was  tapping  gently  on  the  door. 

"  Shall  I  see  who  it  is?  "  asked  the  girl,  after  a 
long  period  of  silence. 

"  Yes." 

It  was  Murray.  "  Mr.  Leslie  has  returned,  Miss 
Castleton,  and  asks  if  he  may  see  you  at  once.  He 
says  it  is  very  important." 

"  Tell  him  I  will  be  down  in  a  few  minutes,  Murray." 

After  the  door  closed,  she  waited  until  the  footman's 
steps  died  away  on  the  stairs. 

"I  shall  say  no  to  him,  Sara,  and  I  shall  say  to 
him  that  you  will  teU  him  why  I  cannot  be  his  wife. 
Do  you  understand?  Are  you  listening  to  me?  " 

Sara  turned  away  without  a  word  or  look  of  re 
sponse. 

Hetty  quietly  opened  the  door  and  went  out. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

THE  SECOND  ENCOUNTER 

BOOTH  trudged  rapidly  homeward  after  leaving  Hetty 
at  the  lodge.  He  was  throbbing  all  over  with  the 
love  of  her.  The  thrill  of  conquest  was  in  his  blood. 
She  had  raised  a  mysterious  barrier;  all  the  more  zest 
to  the  inevitable  victory  that  would  be  his.  He  would 
delight  in  overcoming  obstacles  —  the  bigger  the  bet 
ter, —  for  his  heart  was  valiant  and  the  prize  no 
smaller  than  those  which  the  ancient  knights  went  out 
to  battle  for  in  the  lists  of  love.  He  had  held. her  in 
his  arms,  he  had  kissed  her,  he  had  breathed  of  her 
fragrant  hair,  he  had  felt  the  beating  of  her  frightened 
heart  against  his  body.  With  the  memory  of  all  this 
to  lift  him  to  the  heights  of  divine  exaltation,  he  was 
unable  to  conjure  up  a  finer  triumph  than  the  winning 
of  her  after  the  manner  of  the  knights  of  old,  to  whom 
opposition  was  life,  denial  a  boon. 

It  was  enough  for  the  present  to  know  that  she 
loved  him. 

What  if  she  were  Hetty  Glynn?  What  if  she  had 
been  an  artist's  model?  The  look  he  had  had  into  the 
soul  of  her  through  those  pure  blue  eyes  was  all-con 
vincing.  She  was  worthy  of  the  noblest  love. 

After  luncheon  —  served  with  some  exasperation 
by  Patrick  an  hour  and  a  half  later  than  usual  — 
he  smoked  his  pipe  on  the  porch  and  stared  reminis- 
cently  at  the  shifting  clouds  above  the  tree-tops,  and 
with  a  tenderness  about  the  lips  that  must  have  sur 
prised  and  gratified  the  stubby,  ill-used  brier,  inan 
imate  confederate  in  many  a  lofty  plot.  He  recalled 

265 


266          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

all  she  had  said  to  him  in  that  sylvan  confessional, 
and  was  content.  His  family?  Pooh!  He  had  a  soul 
of  his  own.  It  needed  its  mate. 

He  did  not  see  the  Wrandall  motor  at  his  garden 
gate  until  a  lusty  voice  brought  him  down  from  the 
clouds  into  the  range  of  earthly  sounds.  Then  he 
dashed  out  to  the  gate,  bareheaded  and  coatless,  for 
getting  that  he  had  been  sitting  in  the  obscurity  of 
trailing  vines  and  purple  blossoms  the  while  he  thought 
of  her. 

Leslie  was  sitting  on  the  wide  seat  between  his 
mother  and  sister. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  back,  old  man,"  said  Booth,  reach 
ing  in  to  shake  hands  with  him.  "  Day  early,  aren't 
you?  Good-afternoon,  Mrs.  Wrandall.  Won't  you 
come  in?  " 

He  looked  at  Vivian  as  he  gave  the  invitation. 

"  No,  thanks,"  she  replied.  "  Won't  you  come  to 
dinner  this  evening?  " 

He  hesitated.  "  I'm  not  quite  sure  whether  I  can, 
Vivian.  I've  got  a  half-way  sort  of — " 

"  Oh,  do,  old  chap,"  cut  in  Leslie,  more  as  a  com 
mand  than  an  entreaty.  "  Sorry  I  can't  be  there  my 
self,  but  you'll  fare  quite  as  well  without  me.  I'm 
dining  at  Sara's.  Wants  my  private  ear  about  one 
thing  and  another  —  see  what  I  mean  ?  " 

"  We  shall  expect  you,  Brandon,"  said  Mrs.  Wran 
dall,  fixing  him  with  her  lorgnette. 

"  I'll  come,  thank  you,"  said  he. 

He  felt  disgustingly  transparent  under  that  inquisi 
tive  glass. 

Wrandall  stepped  out  of  the  car.  "  I'll  stop  off  for 
a  chat  with  Brandy,  mother." 

"  Shall  I  send  the  car  back,  dear?  " 


THE  SECOND  ENCOUNTER  267 

"  Never  mind.     I'll  walk  down." 

The  two  men  turned  in  at  the  gate  as  the  car  sped 
away. 

"  Well,"  said  Booth,  "  it's  good  to  see  you.  Pat !  " 
He  called  through  a  basement  window.  "  Come  up  and 
take  the  gentleman's  order." 

"  No  drink  for  me,  Brandy.  I've  been  in  the  tem 
perance  State  of  Maine  for  two  weeks.  One  week  more 
of  it  and  I'd  have  been  completely  pickled.  I  shall 
always  remember  Maine."  He  dropped  into  a  broad 
wicker  chair  and  felt  tenderly  of  his  nose.  "  'Gad,  I'm 
not  quite  sure  that  the  sun  did  it,  old  man.  It  was 
dreadful." 

Booth  grinned.      "  Do  any  fishing  ?  " 

"  Yes.  The  first  day.  Oh,  you  needn't  look  at  me 
like  that.  I'm  back  in  the  narrow  path."  After  a 
moment  of  painful  reflection,  he  added,  "  We  didn't 
see  water  after  the  first  day.  I'm  just  beginning  to 
get  used  to  the  taste  of  it  again." 

"  Never  mind,  Pat,"  said  Booth,  as  the  servant  ap 
peared  in  the  doorway.  "  Mr.  Wrandall  is  not  suf 
fering." 

"  You  know  I'm  not  a  drinking  man,"  declared  Les 
lie,  a  pathetic  note  of  appeal  in  his  voice.  "  I  hate 
the  stuff." 

"  It  is  a  good  thing  to  let  alone." 

"  And  don't  I  let  it  alone  ?  You  never  saw  me  tight 
in  your  life." 

Booth  sat  down  on  the  porch  rail,  hooked  his  toes 
in  the  supports  and  proceeded  to  fill  his  pipe.  Then 
he  struck  a  match  and  applied  it,  Leslie  watching  him 
with  moody  eyes. 

"  How  do  you  like  the  portrait,  old  man?  "  he  in* 
quired  between  punctuating  puffs. 


268          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  It's  bully.  Sargent  never  did  anything  finer. 
Ripping." 

"  I  owe  it  all  to  you,  Les." 

"To  me?" 

"  You  induced  her  to  sit  to  me." 

"  So  I  did,"  said  Leslie  sourly.  "  I  was  Mr.  Fix-it 
sure  enough."  He  allowed  a  short  interval  to  elapse 
before  taking  the  plunge.  "  I  suppose,  old  chap,  if 
I  should  happen  to  need  your  valuable  services  as 
best  man  in  the  near  future,  you'd  not  disappoint  me?  " 

Booth  eyed  him  quizzically.  "  I  trust  you're  not 
throwing  yourself  away,  Les,"  he  said  drily.  "  I  mean 
to  say,  on  some  one  —  well,  some  one  not  quite  up  to 
the  mark." 

Leslie  regarded  him  with  some  severity.  "  Of  course 
not,  old  chap.  What  the  devil  put  that  into  your 
head?" 

"  I  thought  that  possibly  you'd  been  making  a 
chump  of  yourself  up  in  the  Maine  woods." 

"  Piffle !  Don't  be  an  ass.  What's  the  sense  pre 
tending  you  don't  know  who  she  is?  " 

"  I  suppose  it's  Hetty  Castleton,"  said  Booth,  puff 
ing  away  at  his  pipe. 

"Who  else?" 

"  Think  she'll  have  you,  old  man? "  asked  Booth, 
after  a  moment. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  other,  a  bit  dashed. 
"  You  might  wish  me  luck,  though." 

Booth  knocked  the  burnt  tobacco  from  the  bowl  of 
his  pipe.  A  serious  line  appeared  between  his  eyes. 
He  was  a  fair-minded  fellow,  without  guile,  without 
a  single  treacherous  instinct. 

"  I  can't  wish  you  luck,  Les,"  he  said  slowly.  "  You 
see  I'm  —  I'm  in  love  with  her  myself." 


THE  SECOND  ENCOUNTER  269 

"  The  devil ! "  Leslie  sat  bolt  upright  and  glared 
at  him.  "  I  might  have  known !  And  —  and  is  she 
in  love  with  you?  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you  reveal  considerable  lack  of 
tact  in  asking  that  question." 

"  What  I  want  to  know  is  this,"  exclaimed  Wran- 
dall,  very  pale  but  very  hot :  "  is  she  going  to  marry 
you?" 

Booth  smiled.  "  I'll  be  perfectly  frank  with  you. 
She  says  she  won't." 

Leslie  gulped.     "  So  you've  asked  her?  " 

"  Obviously." 

"  And  she  said  she  wouldn't  ?  She  refused  you  ? 
Turned  you  down?  "  His  little  moustache  shot  up  at 
the  ends  and  a  joyous,  triumphant  laugh  broke  from 
his  lips.  "  Oh,  this  is  rich !  Ha,  ha !  Turned  you 
down,  eh?  Poor  old  Brandy!  You're  my  best  friend, 
and  dammit  I'm  sorry.  I  mean  to  say,"  he  went  on 
in  some  embarrassment,  "  I'm  sorry  for  you.  Of 
course,  you  can  hardly  expect  me  to  —  er  — " 

"  Certainly  not,"  accepted  Booth  amiably.  "  I  quite 
understand." 

"  Then,  since  she's  refused  you,  you  might  wish  me 
better  luck." 

"  That  would  mean  giving  up  hope." 

"  Hope  ?  "  exclaimed  Leslie  quickly.  "  You  don't 
mean  to  say  you'll  annoy  her  with  your — " 

"  No,  I  shall  not  annoy  her,"  replied  his  friend, 
shaking  his  head. 

"  Well,  I  should  hope  not,"  said  Leslie  with  a  scowl. 
"Turned  you  down,  eh?  'Pon  my  soul!"  He  ap 
peared  to  be  relishing  the  idea  of  it.  "  Sorry,  old 
chap,  but  I  suppose  you  understand  just  what  that 
means." 


270          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

Booth's  lips  hardened  for  an  instant,  then  relaxed 
into  a  queer,  almost  pitying  smile. 

"And  you  want  me  to  be  your  best  man?  "  he  said 
reflectively. 

Leslie  arose.  His  chest  seemed  to  swell  a  little; 
assuredly  he  was  breathing  much  easier.  He  assumed 
an  air  of  compassion. 

"  I  shan't  insist,  old  fellow,  if  you  feel  you'd  rather 
not  —  er —  See  what  I  mean?"  It  then  occurred  to 
him  to  utter  a  word  or  two  of  kindly  advice.  "  I 
shouldn't  go  on  hoping  if  I  were  you,  Brandy.  Ton 
my  soul,  I  shouldn't.  Take  it  like  a  man.  I  know 
it  hurts  but —  Pooh!  What's  the  use  aggravating 
the  pain  by  butting  against  a  stone  wall?  " 

His  companion  looked  out  over  the  tree-tops,  his 
hands  in  his  trouser  pockets,  and  it  must  be  confessed 
that  his  manner  was  not  that  of  one  who  is  oppressed 
by  despair. 

"  I  think  I'm  taking  it  like  a  man,  Les,"  he  said. 
"  I  only  hope  you'll  take  it  as  nicely  if  she  says  nay 
to  you." 

An  uneasy  look  leaped  into  Leslie's  face.  He 
seemed  noticeably  less  corpulent  about  the  chest.  He 
wondered  if  Booth  knew  anything  about  his  initial 
venture.  A  question  rose  to  his  lips,  but  he  thought 
quickly  and  held  it  back.  Instead,  he  glanced  at  his 
watch. 

"  I  must  be  off.    See  you  to-morrow,  I  hope." 

"  So  long,"  said  Booth,  stopping  at  the  top  of  the 
steps  while  his  visitor  skipped  down  to  the  gate  with 
a.  nimbleness  that  suggested  the  formation  of  a  sud 
den  resolve. 

Leslie  did  not  waste  time  in  parting  inanities;  he 
strode  off  briskly  in  the  direction  of  home,  but  not 


THE  SECOND  ENCOUNTER  271 

without  a  furtive  glance  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye  as 
he  disappeared  beyond  the  hedge-row  at  the  end  of 
Booth's  garden.  That  gentleman  was  standing  where 
he  had  left  him,  and  was  filling  his  pipe  once  more. 

The  day  was  warm,  and  Leslie  was  in  a  dripping 
perspiration  when  he  reached  home.  He  did  not  en 
ter  the  house  but  made  his  way  direct  to  the  garage. 

"  Get  out  the  car  at  once,  Brown,"  was  his  order. 

Three  minutes  later  he  was  being  driven  over  the 
lower  road  toward  Southlook,  taking  good  care  to 
avoid  Booth's  place  by  the  matter  of  a  mile  or  more. 
He  was  in  a  fever  of  hope  and  eagerness.  It  was 
very  plain  to  him  why  she  had  refused  to  marry  Booth. 
The  iron  was  hot.  He  didn't  intend  to  lose  any  time 
in  striking. 

And  now  we  know  why  he  came  again  to  Sara's  in 
the  middle  of  a  blazing  afternoon,  instead  of  waiting 
until  the  more  seductive  shades  of  night  had  fallen, 
when  the  moon  sat  serene  in  the  seat  of  the  Mighty. 

He  didn't  have  to  wait  long  for  Hetty.  Up  to  the 
instant  of  her  appearance  in  the  door,  he  had  revelled 
in  the  thought  that  the  way  was  now  paved  with  roses. 
But  with  her  entrance,  he  felt  his  confidence  and  cour 
age  slipping.  Perhaps  that  may  explain  the  abrupt 
ness  with  which  he  proceeded  to  go  about  the  business 
in  hand. 

"  I  couldn't  wait  till  to-night,"  he  explained  as  she 
came  slowly  across  the  room  toward  him.  She  was 
half  way  to  him  before  he  awoke  to  the  fact  that  he 
was  standing  perfectly  still.  Then  he  started  for 
ward,  somehow  impelled  to  meet  her  at  least  half 
way.  "  You'll  forgive  me,  Hetty,  if  I  have  disturbed 
you." 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  I  was  not  lying  down,  Mr.  Wrandall,"  she  said 
quietly.  There  was  nothing  ominous  in  the  words,  but 
he  experienced  a  sudden  sensation  of  cold.  "  Won't 
you  sit  down?  Or  would  you  rather  go  out  to  the 
terrace?  " 

"  It's  much  more  comfortable  here,  if  you  don't 
mind.  I  —  I  suppose  you  know  what  it  is  I  want  to 
say  to  you.  You — " 

"  Yes,"  she  interrupted  wearily ;  "  and  knowing  as 
much,  Mr.  Wrandall,  it  would  not  be  fair  of  me  to 
let  you  go  on." 

"  Not  fair?  "  he  said,  in  honest  amazement.  "  But, 
my  dear,  I  — " 

"  Please,  Mr.  Wrandall,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a 
pleading  little  smile  that  would  have  touched  the  heart 
of  any  one  but  Leslie.  "  Please  don't  go  on.  It  is 
quite  as  impossible  now  as  it  was  before.  I  have  not 
changed." 

He  could  only  say,  mechanically :  "  You  haven't  ?  " 

"  No.  I  am  sorry  if  you  have  thought  that  I  might 
come  to  — " 

"  Think,  for  heaven's  sake,  think  what  you  are  do 
ing  !  "  he  cried,  feeling  for  the  edge  of  the  table  with 
a  support-seeking  hand.  "  I  —  I  had  Sara's  word 
that  you  were  not — " 

"  Unfortunately  Sara  cannot  speak  for  me  in  a 
matter  of  this  kind.  Thank  you  for  the  honour  you 
would  — " 

"  Honour  be  hanged ! "  he  blurted  out,  losing  his 
temper.  "  I  love  you !  It's  a  purely  selfish  thing  with 
me,  and  I'm  blowed  if  I  consider  it  an  honour  to  be 
refused  by  any  woman.  I — " 

"  Mr.  Wrandall ! "  she  cried,  fixing  him  with  her 
flashing,  indignant  eyes.  "  You  are  forgetting  your- 


THE  SECOND  ENCOUNTER  273 

self."  She  was  standing  very  straight  and  slim  and 
imperious  before  him. 

He  quailed.     "I  —  I  beg  your  pardon.     I  —  I  — " 

"  There  is  nothing  more  to  be  said,"  she  went  on 
icily.  "  Good-bye." 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me  whether  there  is  any 
one  else?"  he  asked,  as  he  turned  toward  the  door. 

"  Do  you  really  feel  that  you  have  the  right  to  ask 
that  question,  Mr.  Wrandall?  " 

He  wet  his  lips  with  his  tongue.  "  Then,  there  is 
some  one ! "  he  cried,  rapping  the  table  with  his 
knuckles.  He  didn't  realise  till  afterward  how  vig 
orously  he  rapped.  "  Some  confounded  English  no 
body,  I  suppose." 

She  smiled,  not  unkindly.  "  There  is  no  English 
nobody,  if  that  answers  your  question." 

"  Then,  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  offer  a  reason 
for  not  giving  me  a  fair  chance  in  a  clear  field?  I 
think  it's  due—" 

"  Can't  you  see  how  you  are  distressing  me?  Must 
I  again  go  through  that  horrid  scene  in  the  garden? 
Can't  you  take  a  plain  no  for  an  answer  ?  " 

"  Good  Lord !  "  he  gasped,  and  in  those  two  words 
he  revealed  the  complete  overturning  of  a  life-long 
estimate  of  himself.  It  seemed  to  take  more  than  his 
breath  away. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said  with  finality. 

He  stared  at  the  door  through  which  she  disap 
peared,  his  hopes,  his  conceit,  his  self-regard  trailing 
after  her  with  shameless  disloyalty  to  the  standards 
he  had  set  for  them,  and  then,  with  a  rather  ghastly 
smile  of  self-commiseration  on  his  lips,  he  slipped  out 
of  the  house,  jumped  into  the  motor  car,  and  gave  a 
brief  but  explicit  command  to  the  chauffeur,  who  lost 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

no  time  in  assisting  his  master  to  turn  tail  in  igno 
minious  flight. 

Hetty  was  gloomily  but  resolutely  employed  in  lay 
ing  out  certain  of  her  personal  belongings,  prepara 
tory  to  packing  them  for  departure,  when  Sara  entered 
her  room. 

They  regarded  each  other  steadily,  questioningly 
for  a  short  space  of  time. 

"  Leslie  has  just  called  up  to  ask  '  what  the  devil '  I 
meant  by  letting  him  make  a  fool  of  himself,"  said 
Sara,  with  a  peculiar  little  twisted  smile  on  her  lips. 

Hetty  offered  no  comment,  but  after  a  moment 
gravely  and  rather  wistfully  called  attention  to  her 
present  occupation  by  a  significant  flaunt  of  her  hand 
and  a  saddened  smile. 

"  I  see,"  said  Sara,  without  emotion.  "  If  you 
choose  to  go,  Hetty,  I  shall  not  oppose  you." 

"  My  position  here  is  a  false  one,  Sara.  I  prefer 
to  go." 

"  This  morning  I  should  have  held  a  sword  over 
your  head." 

"  It  is  very  difficult  for  me  to  realise  all  that  has 
happened." 

"  You  are  free  to  depart.  You  are  free  in  every 
sense  of  the  word.  Your  future  rests  with  yourself, 
my  dear." 

"  It  hurts  me  more  than  I  can  tell  to  feel  that  you 
have  been  hating  me  all  these  months." 

"  It  hurts  me  —  now." 

Hetty  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

"What  are  your  plans?"  Sara  inquired,  after  an 
interval. 

"  I  shall  seek  employment  —  and  wait  for  you  to 
act." 


THE  SECOND  ENCOUNTER  275 

"I?     You  mean?" 

"  I  shall  not  run  away,  Sara.  Nor  do  I  intend  to 
reveal  myself  to  the  authorities.  I  am  not  morally 
guilty  of  crime.  A  year  ago  I  feared  the  consequences 
of  my  deed,  but  I  have  learned  much  since  then.  I 
was  a  stranger  in  a  new  world.  In  England  we  have 
been  led  to  believe  that  you  lynch  women  here  as  readily 
as  you  lynch  men.  I  now  know  better  than  that. 
From  you  alone  I  learned  my  greatest  lesson.  You 
revealed  to  me  the  true  meaning  of  human  kindness. 
You  shielded  me  who  should  not.  Even  now  I  believe 
that  your  first  impulse  was  a  tender  one.  I  shall  not 
forget  it,  Sara.  You  will  live  to  regret  the  baser 
thought  that  came  later  on.  I  have  loved  you  —  yes, 
almost  as  a  good  dog  loves  his  master.  It  is  not  for 
me  to  tell  the  story  of  that  night  and  all  these  months 
to  the  world.  I  would  not  be  betraying  myself,  but 
you.  You  would  be  called  upon  to  explain,  not  I.  And 
you  would  be  the  one  to  suffer.  When  you  met  me  on 
the  road  that  night  I  was  on  my  way  back  to  the  inn 
to  give  myself  into  custody.  You  have  made  it  im 
possible  for  me  to  do  so  now.  My  lips  are  sealed.  It 
rests  with  you,  Sara." 

Sara  joined  her  in  the  broad  window.  There  was 
a  strangely  exalted  look  in  her  face.  A  gilded  bird 
cage  hung  suspended  in  the  casement.  Without  a 
word,  she  threw  open  the  window  screen.  The  gay  lit 
tle  canary  in  the  gilded  cage  cocked  his  head  and 
watched  her  with  alert  eyes.  Then  she  reached  up  and 
gently  removed  the  cage  from  its  fastenings.  Putting 
it  down  upon  the  window  sill,  she  opened  the  tiny  door. 
The  bird  hopped  about  his  prison  in  a  state  of  great 
excitement. 

Hetty  looked  on,  fascinated. 


276          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

At  last  a  yellow  streak  shot  out  through  the  open 
door  and  an  instant  later  resolved  itself  into  the  bob 
bing,  fluttering  dicky-bird  that  had  lived  in  a  cage  all 
its  life  without  an  hour  of  freedom.  For  a  few  sec 
onds  it  circled  over  the  tree-tops  and  then  alighted 
on  one  of  the  branches.  One  might  well  have  imagined 
that  he  could  hear  its  tiny  heart  beating  with  terror. 
Its  wings  were  half- raised  and  fluttering,  its  head  jerk 
ing  from  side  to  side  in  wild  perturbation.  Taking 
courage,  Master  Dicky  hopped  timorously  to  a  nearby 
twig,  and  then  ventured  a  flight  to  a  tree-top  nearer 
the  window  casement.  Perched  in  its  topmost 
branches  he  cheeped  shrilly,  as  if  there  was  fear  in 
his  little  breast. 

In  silence  the  two  women  in  the  window  watched  the 
agitated  movements  of  the  bird.  The  same  thought 
was  in  the  mind  of  each,  the  same  question,  the  same 
intense  wish. 

A  brown  thrush  sped  through  the  air,  close  by  the 
timid  canary.  Like  a  flash  it  dropped  to  the  twigs 
lower  down,  its  wings  palpitating  in  violent  alarm. 

"  Dicky ! "  called  Sara  Wrandall,  and  then  cheeped 
between  her  teeth. 

A  moment  later  Dicky  was  fluttering  about  the 
eaves ;  his  circles  grew  smaller,  his  winging  less  rhyth 
mic,  till  at  last  with  a  nervous  little  flutter  he  perched 
on  the  top  of  the  window  shutter,  so  near  that  they 
might  have  reached  to  him  with  their  hands.  He  sat 
there  with  his  head  cocked  to  one  side. 

"  Dicky !  "  called  Sara  again.  This  time  she  held 
out  her  finger.  For  some  time  he  regarded  it  with 
indifference,  not  to  say  disfavour.  Then  he  took  one 
more  flight,  but  much  shorter  than  the  first,  bringing 
up  again  at  the  shutter-top.  A  second  later  he  hopped 


THE  SECOND  ENCOUNTER  277 

down  and  his  little  talons  gripped  Sara's  finger  with 
an  earnestness  that  left  no  room  for  doubt. 

She  lowered  her  hand  until  it  was  even  with  the  open 
door  of  the  gilded  cage.  He  shot  inside  with  a  whir 
that  suggested  a  scramble.  With  his  wings  folded, 
he  sat  on  his  little  trapeze  and  cheeped.  She  closed 
and  fastened  the  door,  and  then  turned  to  Hetty. 

"  My  symbol,"  she  said  softly. 

There  were  tears  in  Hetty's  eyes. 

Leslie  did  not  turn  up  at  his  father's  place  in  the 
High  Street  that  night  until  Booth  was  safely  out  of 
the  way.  He  spent  a  dismal  evening  at  the  boat  club. 

His  father  and  mother  were  in  the  library  when  he 
came  in  at  half-past  ten.  From  a  dark  corner  of  the 
garden  he  had  witnessed  Booth's  early  departure. 
Vivian  had  gone  down  to  the  gate  in  the  low-lying 
hedge  with  her  visitor.  She  came  in  a  moment  after 
Leslie's  entrance. 

"  Hello,  Les,"  she  said,  bending  an  inquiring  eye 
upon  him.  "  Isn't  this  early  for  you?  " 

Her  brother  was  standing  near  the  fireplace. 

"  There's  a  heavy  dew  falling,  Mater,"  he  said 
gruffly.  "  Shan't  I  touch  a  match  to  the  kindling?  " 

His  mother  came  over  to  him  quickly,  and  laid  her 
hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Your  coat  is  damp,"  she  said  anxiously.  "  Yes, 
light  the  fire." 

"  It's  very  warm  in  this  room,"  said  Mr.  Wrandall, 
looking  up  from  his  book.  They  were  always  doing 
something  for  Leslie's  comfort. 

No  one  seemed  to  notice  him.  Leslie  knelt  and 
struck  a  match. 

"Well?"  said  Vivian. 


278          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"Well  what?"  he  demanded  without  looking  up. 

His  sister  took  a  moment  for  thought.  "  Is  Hetty 
coming  to  stay  with  us  in  July?  " 

He  stood  erect,  first  rubbing  his  knee  to  dislodge 
the  dust, —  then  his  palms. 

"  No,  she  isn't  coming,"  he  said.  He  drew  a  very 
long  breath  —  the  first  in  several  hours  —  and  then 
expelled  it  vocally.  "  She  has  refused  to  marry  me." 

Mr.  Wrandall  turned  a  leaf  in  his  book ;  it  sounded 
like  the  crack  of  doom,  so  still  had  the  room  become. 

Vivian  had  the  forethought  to  push  a  chair  toward 
her  mother.  It  was  a  most  timely  act  on  her  part, 
for  Mrs.  Wrandall  sat  down  very  abruptly  and  very 
limply. 

"  She  —  what?  "  gasped  Leslie's  mother. 

"  Turned  me  down  —  cold,"  said  Leslie  briefly. 

Mr.  Wrandall  laid  his  book  on  the  table  without 
thinking  to  put  the  bookmark  in  place.  Then  he  arose 
and  removed  his  glasses,  fumbling  for  the  case. 

"  She  —  she  —  what?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Sacked  me,"  replied  his  son. 

"Please  do  not  jest  with  me,  Leslie,"  said  his 
mother,  trying  to  smile. 

"He  isn't  joking,  mother,"  said  Vivian,  with  a 
shrug  of  her  fine  shoulders. 

"  He  —  he  must  be,"  cried  Mrs.  Wrandall  impa 
tiently.  "What  did  she  really  say,  Leslie?" 

"  The  only  thing  I  remember  was  '  good-bye,'  "  said 
he,  and  then  blew  his  nose  violently. 

"  Poor  old  Les !  "  said  Vivian,  with  real  feeling. 

"  It  was  Sara  Gooch's  doing ! "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Wrandall,  getting  her  breath  at  last. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Mr.  Wrandall,  picking  up  his 
book  once  more  and  turning  to  the  place  where  the 


THE  SECOND  ENCOUNTER  279 

bookmark  lay,  after  which  he  proceeded  to  re-read  four 
or  five  pages  before  discovering  his  error. 

No  one  spoke  for  a  matter  of  five  minutes  or  more. 
Then  Mrs.  Wrandall  got  up,  went  over  to  the  library 
table  and  closed  with  a  snap  the  bulky  blue  book  with 
the  limp  leather  cover,  saying  as  she  held  it  up  to  let 
him  see  that  it  was  the  privately  printed  history  of  the 
Murgatroyd  family: 

"  It  came  by  post  this  evening  from  London.  She 
is  merely  a  fourth  cousin,  my  son." 

He  looked  up  with  a  gleam  of  interest  in  his  eye. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

CROSSING    THE    CHANNEL 

BOOTH,  restless  with  a  vague  uneasiness  that  had  come 
over  him  during  the  night,  keeping  him  awake  until 
nearly  dawn,  was  hard  put  during  the  early  hours  of 
the  forenoon  to  find  occupation  for  his  interest  until 
a  seasonable  time  arrived  for  appearing  at  South- 
look.  He  was  unable  to  account  for  this  feeling  of 
uncertainty  and  irritation. 

At  nine  he  set  out  to  walk  over  to  Southlook,  real 
ising  that  he  should  have  to  spend  an  hour  in  profitless 
gossip  with  the  lodge-keeper  before  presenting  himself 
at  the  villa,  but  somehow  relishing  the  thought  that 
even  so  he  would  be  nearer  to  Hetty  than  if  he  re 
mained  in  his  own  door-yard. 

Half-way  there  he  was  overtaken  by  Sara's  big 
French  machine  returning  from  the  village.  The  car 
came  to  a  standstill  as  he  stepped  aside  to  let  it  pass, 
and  Sara  herself  leaned  over  and  cordially  invited  him 
to  get  in  and  ride  home  with  her. 

"  What  an  early  bird  you  are,"  he  exclaimed  as  he 
took  his  seat  beside  her. 

She  was  not  in  a  mood  for  airy  persiflage,  as  he 
soon  discovered. 

"  Miss  Castleton  has  gone  up  to  town,  Mr.  Booth," 
she  said  rather  lifelessly.  "  I  have  just  taken  her  to 
the  station.  She  caught  the  eight-thirty." 

He  was  at  once  solicitous.  "  No  bad  news,  I  hope?  " 
There  was  no  thought  in  his  mind  that  her  absence  was 
other  than  temporary. 

280 


CROSSING  THE  CHANNEL  281 

"  She  is  not  coming  back,  Brandon."  She  had  not 
addressed  him  as  Brandon  before. 

He  stared.  "  You  —  you  mean  — "  The  words 
died  on  his  lips. 

"  She  is  not  coming  back,"  she  repeated. 

An  accusing  gleam  leaped  into  his  eyes. 

"What  has  happened,  Mrs.  Wrandall?  "  he  asked. 

She  was  quick  to  perceive  the  change  in  his  voice 
and  manner. 

"  She  prefers  to  live  apart  from  me.     That  is  all." 

"  When  was  this  decision  reached  ?  " 

"  But  yesterday.  Soon  after  she  came  in  from  her 
walk  with  you." 

"  Do  —  do  you  mean  to  imply  that  that  had  any 
thing  to  do  with  her  leaving  your  home? "  he  de 
manded,  with  a  flush  on  his  cheek. 

She  met  his  look  without  flinching.  "  It  was  the 
beginning." 

"  You  —  you  criticised  her  ?  You  took  her  to 
task  — " 

"  I  notified  her  that  she  was  to  marry  Leslie  Wran 
dall,  if  she  marries  any  one  at  all,"  she  said  in  a 
perfectly  level  tone. 

"Good  Lord,  Mrs.  Wrandall!" 

"  But  she  is  not  going  to  marry  Leslie." 

"  I  know  it  —  I  knew  it  yesterday,"  he  cried  tri 
umphantly.  "  She  loves  me,  Sara.  Didn't  she  say  as 
much  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Brandon,  she  loves  you.  But  she  will  not  be 
your  wife." 

"  What  is  all  this  mystery  ?  Why  can't  she  be  my 
wife?  What  is  there  to  prevent?" 

She  regarded  him  with  dark,  inscrutable  eyes. 
Many  seconds  passed  before  she  spoke. 


282          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  Would  you  want  her  for  your  wife  if  you  knew 
she  had  belonged  to  another  man?  " 

He  turned  very  cold.  The  palms  of  his  hands  were 
wet,  as  with  ice-water.  Something  dark  seemed  to  flit 
before  his  eyes. 

"  I  will  not  believe  that  of  her,"  he  said,  shaking  his 
head  with  an  air  of  finality. 

"  That  is  not  an  answer  to  my  question." 

"  Yes,  I  would  still  want  her,"  he  declared  steadily. 

"  I  merely  meant  to  put  you  to  the  harshest  test," 
she  said,  and  there  was  relief  in  her  voice.  "  She  is 
a  good  girl,  she  is  pure.  I  asked  my  question  because 
until  yesterday  I  had  reason  to  doubt  her." 

"  Good  heavens,  how  could  you  doubt  those  honest, 
guiltless  eyes  of  — " 

She  shook  her  head  sadly.  "  To  answer  you  I  would 
have  to  reveal  the  secret  that  makes  it  impossible  for 
her  to  become  your  wife,  and  that  I  cannot,  will 
not  do." 

"Is  it  fair  to  me?" 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  it  is  fair  to  her,  and  that  is  why 
I  must  remain  silent." 

"  Before  God,  I  shall  know  the  truth, —  from  her,  if 
not  from  you, —  and  — " 

"  If  you  love  her,  if  you  will  be  kind  to  her,  you  will 
let  her  go  her  way  in  peace." 

He  was  struck  by  the  somewhat  sinister  earnestness 
of  her  words. 

"  Tell  me  where  I  may  find  her,"  he  said,  setting  his 
jaw. 

"  It  will  not  be  difficult  for  you  to  find  her,"  she 
said,  frowning,  "  if  you  insist  on  pursuing  her." 

"  You  drive  her  away  from  your  house,  Sara  Wran- 
idall,  and  yet  expect  me  to  believe  that  your  motives 


CROSSING  THE  CHANNEL  283 

are  friendly.  Why  should  I  accept  your  word  as 
final?" 

"  I  did  not  drive  her  away,  nor  did  I  ask  her  to 
stay." 

He  stared  hard  at  her. 

"  Good  Lord,  what  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?  "  he 
cried  in  perplexity.  "What  am  I  to  understand?" 

The  car  had  come  to  a  stop  under  the  porte  cochere. 
She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  If  you  will  come  in  with  me,  Brandon,  I  will  try 
to  make  some  things  clear  to  you." 

He  left  in  half-an-hour,  walking  rapidly  down  the 
drive,  his  coat  buttoned  closely,  although  the  morning 
was  hot  and  breathless.  He  held  in  his  hand  a  small 
scrap  of  paper  on  which  was  written :  "  If  I  loved  you 
less,  I  would  come  to  you  now  and  lie  to  you.  If  you 
love  me,  Brandon,  you  will  let  me  go  my  way.  It  is 
the  only  course.  Sara  is  my  friend,  and  she  is  yours. 
Be  guided  by  her,  and  believe  in  my  love  for  you. 
Hetty." 

And  now,  as  things  go  in  fairy  stories,  we  should 
prepare  ourselves  to  see  Hetty  pass  through  a  season 
in  drudgery  and  hardship,  with  the  ultimate  quintes 
sence  of  joy  as  the  reward  for  her  trials  and  tribula 
tions.  Happily,  this  is  not  a  fairy  tale.  There  are 
some  things  more  fantastic  than  fairy  tales,  if  they 
are  not  spoiled  in  the  telling.  Hetty  did  not  go  forth 
to  encounter  drudgery,  disdain  and  obloquy.  By  no 
manner  of  means !  She  went  with  a  well-filled  purse, 
a  definite  purpose  ahead  and  a  determined  factor  be 
hind. 

In  a  manner  befitting  her  station  as  the  intimate 
friend  of  Mrs.  Challis  Wrandall,  as  the  cousin  of  the 


284          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

Murgatroyds,  as  the  daughter  of  Colonel  Castleton  of 
the  Indian  Corps,  as  a  person  supposed  to  be  pos 
sessed  of  independent  means  withal,  she  went,  with 
none  to  question,  none  to  cavil. 

Sara  had  insisted  on  this,  as  much  for  her  own  sake 
as  for  Hetty's;  she  argued,  and  she  had  prevailed  in 
the  end.  What  would  the  world  think,  what  would 
their  acquaintances  think,  and  above  all  what  would 
the  high  and  mighty  Wrandalls  think  if  she  went  with 
meek  and  lowly  mien? 

Why  should  they  make  it  possible  for  any  one  to 
look  askance? 

And  so  it  was  that  she  departed  in  state,  with  a 
dozen  trunks  and  boxes ;  an  obsequiously  attended  seat 
in  the  parlour-car  was  hers ;  a  telegram  in  her  bag  as 
sured  her  that  rooms  were  being  reserved  for  herself 
and  maid  at  the  Ritz-Carlton ;  alongside  it  reposed  a 
letter  to  Mr.  Carroll,  instructing  him  to  provide  her 
with  sufficient  funds  to  carry  out  the  plan  agreed 
upon;  and  in  the  seat  behind  sat  the  lady's  maid  who 
had  served  her  for  a  twelve-month  and  more. 

The  timely  demise  of  the  venerable  Lord  Murga- 
troyd  afforded  the  most  natural  excuse  for  her  trip 
to  England.  The  old  nobleman  gave  up  the  ghost, 
allowing  for  difference  in  time,  at  the  very  moment 
when  Mrs.  Redmond  Wrandall  was  undoing  a  certain 
package  from  London,  which  turned  out  to  be  a  com 
plete  history  of  what  his  forebears  had  done  in  the 
way  of  propagation  since  the  fourteenth  century. 

Hetty  did  not  find  it  easy  to  accommodate  her  pride 
to  the  plan  which  was  to  give  her  a  fresh  and  rather 
imposing  start  in  the  world.  She  was  to  have  a  full 
year  in  which  to  determine  whether  she  should  accept 
toil  and  poverty  as  her  lot,  or  emulate  the  symbolic 


CROSSING  THE  CHANNEL  285 

example  of  Dicky  the  canary  bird.  At  the  end  of  the 
year,  unless  she  did  as  Dicky  had  done,  her  source  of 
supplies  would  be  automatically  cut  off  and  she  would 
be  entirely  dependent  upon  her  own  wits  and  re 
sources.  In  the  interim,  she  was  a  probationary  per 
son  of  leisure.  It  had  required  hours  of  persuasion 
on  the  part  of  Sara  Wrandall  to  bring  her  into  line 
with  these  arrangements. 

"  But  I  am  able  and  willing  to  work  for  my  living," 
had  been  Hetty's  stubborn  retort  to  all  the  arguments 
brought  to  bear  upon  her. 

"  Then  let  me  put  it  in  another  light.  It  is  vital  to 
me,  of  course,  that  you  should  keep  up  the  show  of 
affluence  for  a  while  at  least.  I  think  I  have  made 
that  clear  to  you.  But  here  is  another  side  to  the  mat 
ter;  the  question  of  recompense." 

"  Recompense  ?  "  cried  Hetty  sharply. 

"  Without  your  knowing  it,  I  have  virtually  held 
you  a  prisoner  all  these  months,  condemned  in  my  own 
judgment  if  not  in  the  sight  of  the  law.  I  have  taken 
the  law  unto  myself.  You  were  not  convicted  of  mur 
der  in  this  Unitarian  court  of  mine,  but  of  another  sin. 
For  fifteen  months  you  have  been  living  under  the 
shadow  of  a  crime  you  did  not  commit.  I  was  reserv 
ing  complete  punishment  for  you  in  the  shape  of  an 
ignoble  marriage,  which  was  to  have  served  two  bitter 
ends.  Well,  I  have  had  the  truth  from  you.  I  be 
lieve  you  to  be  absolutely  innocent  of  the  charge  I 
held  over  you,  for  which  I  condemned  you  without  a 
hearing.  Then,  why  should  I  not  employ  my  own 
means  of  making  restitution?  " 

"  You  have  condescended  to  believe  in  me.  That 
is  all  I  ask." 

"  True,  that  is  all  you  ask.     But  is  it  altogether 


286          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

the  fair  way  out  of  it?  To  illustrate:  our  criminal 
laws  are  less  kind  to  the  innocent  than  to  the  guilty. 
Our  law  courts  find  a  man  guilty  and  he  is  sent  to 
prison.  Later  on,  he  is  found  to  be  innocent  —  abso 
lutely  innocent.  What  does  the  State  do  in  the  prem 
ises?  It  issues  a  formal  pardon, —  a  mockery,  pure 
and  simple, —  and  the  man  is  set  free.  It  all  comes 
to  a  curt,  belated  apology  for  an  error  on  the  part  of 
justice.  No  substantial  recompense  is  offered.  He  is 
merely  pardoned  for  something  he  didn't  do.  The 
State,  which  has  wronged  him,  condescends  to  pardon 
him !  Think  of  it !  It  is  the  same  as  if  a  man  knocked 
another  down  and  then  said,  before  he  removed  his 
foot  from  the  victim's  neck :  '  I  pardon  you  freely.' 
My  father  was  opposed  to  the  system  we  have  —  that 
all  countries  have  —  of  pardoning  men  who  have  been 
unjustly  condemned.  The  innocent  victim  is  pardoned 
in  the  same  manner  as  the  guilty  one  who  comes  in 
for  clemency.  I  accept  my  father's  contention  that 
an  innocent  man  should  not  be  shamed  and  humiliated 
by  a  pardon.  The  court  which  tried  him  should  re 
open  the  case  and  honourably  acquit  him  of  the  crime. 
Then  the  State  should  pay  to  this  innocent  man,  dol 
lar  for  dollar,  all  that  he  might  have  earned  during 
his  term  of  imprisonment,  with  an  additional  amount 
for  the  suffering  he  has  endured.  Not  long  ago  in  an 
adjoining  State  a  man,  who  had  served  seventeen  years 
of  a  life  sentence  for  murder,  was  found  to  be  wholly 
innocent.  What  happened?  A  pardon  was  handed 
to  him  and  he  walked  out  of  prison,  broken  in  spirit, 
health  and  purse.  His  small  fortune  had  been  wiped 
out  in  the  futile  effort  to  prove  his  innocence.  He 
gave  up  seventeen  years  of  his  life  and  then  was  par 
doned  for  the  sacrifice.  He  should  have  been  paid 


CROSSING  THE  CHANNEL  287 

for  every  day  spent  in  prison.  That  was  the  very 
least  they  could  have  done." 

"  I  see  now  what  you  mean,"  mused  Hetty.  "  I 
have  never  thought  of  it  in  that  way  before." 

"  Well,  it  comes  to  this  in  our  case,  Hetty :  I  have 
tried  you  all  over  again  in  my  own  little  court  and  I 
have  acquitted  you  of  the  charge  I  had  against  you. 
I  do  not  offer  you  a  silly  pardon.  You  must  allow  me 
to  have  my  way  in  this  matter,  to  choose  my  own 
means  of  compensating  you  for — " 

"  You  saved  my  life,"  protested  Hetty,  shaking  her 
head  obstinately. 

"  My  dear,  I  appreciate  the  fact  that  you  are  Eng 
lish,"  said  Sara,  with  a  weary  smile,  "  but  won't  you 
please  see  the  point  ?  " 

Then  Hetty  smiled  too,  and  the  way  was  easier  after 
that  for  Sara.  She  gained  her  quixotic  point,  and 
Hetty  went  away  from  Southlook  feeling  that  no 
woman  in  all  the  world  was  so  bewildering  as  Sara 
Wrandall. 

When  she  sailed  for  England,  two  days  later,  the 
newspapers  announced  that  the  beautiful  and  attrac 
tive  Miss  Castleton  was  returning  to  her  native  land 
on  account  of  the  death  of  Lord  Murgatroyd,  and 
would  spend  the  year  on  the  Continent,  where  prob 
ably  she  would  be  joined  later  on  by  Mrs.  Wrandall, 
whose  period  of  mourning  and  distress  had  been  sof 
tened  by  the  constant  and  loyal  friendship  of  "  this 
exquisite  Englishwoman." 

Four  hundred  miles  out  at  sea,  she  was  overtaken 
by  wireless  messages  from  three  persons. 

Brandon  Booth's  message  said :  "  I  am  sailing  to 
morrow  on  a  faster  ship  than  yours.  You  will  find 
me  waiting  for  you  on  the  landing  stage."  Her  heart 


288          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

gave  a  leap  to  dizzy  heights,  and,  try  as  she  would, 
she  could  not  crush  it  back  to  the  depths  in  which  it 
had  dwelt  for  days. 

The  second  bit  of  pale  green  paper  contained  a  cry 
from  a  most  unexpected  source :  "  Cable  your  London 
address.  S.  refuses  to  give  it  to  me.  I  think  I  under 
stand  the  situation.  We  want  to  make  amends  for 
what  you  have  had  to  put  up  with  during  the  year. 
She  has  shown  her  true  nature  at  last."  It  was 
signed  "  Leslie." 

From  Sara  came  these  cryptic  words :  "  For  each 
year  of  famine  there  will  come  seven  years  of  plenty." 

All  the  way  across  the  Atlantic  she  lived  in  a  state 
of  subdued  excitement.  Conflicting  emotions  absorbed 
her  waking  hours  but  her  dreams  were  all  of  one  com 
plexion:  rosy  and  warm  and  full  of  a  joyousness  that 
distressed  her  vastly  when  she  recalled  them  to  mind  in 
the  early  morning  hours.  During  the  day  she  inter 
mittently  hoped  and  feared  that  he  would  be  on  the 
landing  stage.  In  any  event,  she  was  bound  to  find 
unhappiness.  If  he  were  there  her  joy  would  be  short 
lived  and  blighting;  if  he  were  not  there,  her  disap 
pointment  would  be  equally  hard  to  bear. 

He  was  there.  She  saw  him  from  the  deck  of  the 
tender  as  they  edged  up  to  the  landing.  His  tall  fig 
ure  loomed  in  the  front  rank  against  the  rail  that  held 
back  the  crowd;  his  sun-bronzed  face  wore  a  look  of 
eager  expectancy;  from  her  obscured  position  in  the 
shadow  of  the  deck  building,  purposely  chosen  for 
reasons  only  too  obvious,  she  could  even  detect  the 
alert,  swift-moving  scrutiny  that  he  fastened  upon  the 
crowd. 

Later  on,  he  stood  looking  down  into  her  serious 
blue  eyes ;  her  hands  were  lying  limp  in  his.  His  own 


CROSSING  THE  CHANNEL  289 

eyes  were  dark  with  earnestness,  with  the  restraint  that 
had  fastened  itself  upon  him.  Behind  her  stood  the 
respectful  but  immeasurably  awed  maid,  who  could  not, 
for  the  life  of  her,  understand  how  a  man  could  be  on 
both  sides  of  the  Atlantic  at  one  and  the  same  time. 

"  Thank  the  Lord,  Hetty,  say  I,  for  the  five  day 
boats,"  he  was  saying. 

"  You  should  not  have  come,  Brandon,"  she  cried 
softly,  and  the  look  of  misery  in  her  eyes  was  tinged 
with  a  glow  she  could  not  suppress.  "  It  only  makes 
everything  harder  for  me.  I  —  I  —  Oh,  I  wish  you 
had  not  come !  " 

"But  isn't  it  wonderful?"  he  cried,  "that  I  should 
be  here  and  waiting  for  you!  It  is  almost  incon 
ceivable.  And  you  were  in  the  act  of  running  away 
from  me,  too.  Oh,  I  have  that  much  of  the  tale  from 
Sara,  so  don't  look  so  hurt  about  it." 

"  I  am  so  sorry  you  came,"  she  repeated,  her  lip 
trembling. 

Noting  her  emotion,  he  gave  her  hands  a  fierce,  en 
couraging  pressure  and  immediately  released  them. 

"  Come,"  he  said  gently ;  "  I  have  booked  for  Lon 
don.  Everything  is  arranged.  I  shall  see  to  your 
luggage.  Let  me  put  you  in  the  carriage  first." 

As  she  sat  in  the  railway  carriage,  waiting  for  him 
to  return,  she  tried  in  a  hundred  ways  to  devise  a 
means  of  escape,  and  yet  she  had  never  loved  him  so 
much  as  now.  Her  heart  was  sore,  her  desolation 
never  so  complete  as  now. 

He  came  back  at  last  and  took  his  seat  beside  her 
in  the  compartment,  fanning  himself  with  his  hat. 
The  maid  very  discreetly  stared  out  of  the  window  at 
the  hurrying  throng  of  travellers  on  the  platform. 
One  other  person  occupied  the  compartment  with  them, 


290          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

a  crabbed  Englishman  who  seemed  to  resent  the  fact 
that  his  seat  was  not  next  the  window,  and  that  maids 
should  be  encouraged  to  travel  first  class. 

"  Isn't  it  really  wonderful?  "  whispered  Booth  once 
more,  quite  as  if  he  couldn't  believe  it  himself.  She 
smiled  rather  doubtfully.  He  was  sitting  quite  close 
to  her  and  leaning  forward. 

The  Englishman  got  up  and  went  into  the  corridor 
to  consult  the  conductor.  One  might  have  heard  him 
say  he'd  very  much  prefer  going  into  another  com 
partment  where  it  wouldn't  be  necessary  for  him  to 
annoy  a  beastly  American  bride  and  groom  —  her 
maid  and  perhaps  later  on  his  man  —  all  the  way  up 
to  London. 

"  How  I  love  you,  Hetty  —  how  I  adore  you !  '* 
Booth  whispered  passionately. 

"  Oh,  Brandon !  " 

"  And  I  don't  mean  to  give  you  up,"  he  added,  his 
lean  jaw  setting  hard. 

"  You  must  —  oh,  you  must,"  she  cried  miserably. 
*'  I  mean  it,  Brandon  — " 

The  Englishman  came  back  and  took  his  seat.  He 
glared  at  Booth  through  his  eye-glass,  and  that  young 
gentleman  sat  up  in  sudden  embarrassment. 

"  What  are  your  plans  ?  "  asked  he,  turning  his  back 
on  their  fellow-passenger. 

"  Please  don't  ask  me,"  she  pleaded.  "  You  must 
give  it  up,  Brandon.  Let  me  go  my  own  way." 

"  Not  until  I  have  the  whole  story  from  you.  You 
see,  I  am  not  easily  thwarted,  once  I  set  my  heart  on 
a  thing.  I  gathered  this  much  from  Sara:  the  ob 
stacle  is  not  insurmountable." 

"She  — said  — that?" 

"  In  effect,  yes,"  he  qualified. 


CROSSING  THE  CHANNEL  291 

"  What  did  she  tell  you  ?  "  demanded  Hetty,  laying 
her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  I  will  confess  she  didn't  reveal  the  secret  that  you 
consider  a  barrier,  but  she  went  so  far  as  to  say  that 
it  was  very  dark  and  dreadful,"  he  said  lightly.  They 
were  speaking  in  very  low  tones.  "  When  I  pinned 
her  down  to  it,  she  added  that  it  did  not  in  any  sense 
bear  upon  your  honour.  But  there  is  time  enough  to 
talk  about  this  later  on.  For  the  present,  let's  not 
discuss  the  past.  I  know  enough  of  your  history  from 
your  own  lips  as  well  as  what  little  I  could  get  out  of 
Sara,  to  feel  sure  that  you  are,  in  a  way,  drifting.  I 
intend  to  look  after  you,  at  least  until  you  find  your 
self.  Your  sudden  break  with  Sara  has  been  ex 
plained  to  me.  Leslie  Wrandall  is  at  the  back  of  it. 
Sara  told  me  that  she  tried  to  force  you  to  marry  him. 
I  think  you  did  quite  right  in  going  away  as  you  did, 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  was  it  quite  fair  to  me?  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  most  fair,"  she  said,  compressing  her 
lips. 

He  frowned. 

"  We  can't  possibly  be  of  the  same  opinion,"  he  said 
seriously. 

"  You  wouldn't  say  that  if  you  knew  everything." 

"How  long  do  you  intend  to  stay  in  London?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  When  does  this  train  arrive 
there?" 

"  At  four  o'clock,  I  think.  Will  you  go  to  an  hotel 
or  to  friends?  "  He  put  the  question  very  delicately. 

She  smiled  faintly.  "  You  mean  the  Murga- 
troyds?" 

"Your  father  is  here,  I  am  informed.  And  you 
must  have  other  friends  or  relatives  who  — " 

"  I  shall  go  to  a  small  hotel  I  know  near  Trafalgar 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

Square,"  she  interrupted  quietly.  "  You  must  not 
come  there  to  see  me,  Brandon." 

"  I  shall  expect  you  to  dine  with  me  at  —  say 
Prince's  this  evening,"  was  his  response  to  this. 

She  shook  her  head  and  then  turned  to  look  out  of 
the  window.  He  sat  back  in  his  seat  and  for  many 
miles,  with  deep  perplexity  in  his  eyes,  studied  her 
half-averted  face.  The  old  uneasiness  returned.  Was 
this  obstacle,  after  all,  so  great  that  it  could  not  be 
overcome  ? 

They  lunched  together,  but  were  singularly  re 
served  all  through  the  meal.  A  plan  was  growing  in 
her  brain,  a  cruel  but  effective  plan  that  made  her 
despise  herself  and  yet  contained  the  only  means  of 
escape  from  an  even  more  cruel  situation. 

He  drove  with  her  from  the  station  to  the  small 
hotel  off  Trafalgar  Square.  There  were  no  rooms  to 
be  had.  It  was  the  week  of  Ascot  and  the  city  was 
still  crowded  with  people  who  awaited  only  the  royal 
sign  to  break  the  fetters  that  bound  them  to  London. 
Somewhat  perturbed,  she  allowed  him  to  escort  her  to 
several  hotels  of  a  like  character.  Failing  in  each 
case,  she  was  in  despair.  At  last  she  plucked  up  the 
courage  to  say  to  him,  not  without  constraint  and 
embarrassment : 

"  I  think,  Brandon,  if  you  were  to  allow  me  to  ap 
ply  alone  to  one  of  these  places  I  could  get  in  without 
much  trouble." 

"  Good  Lord ! "  he  gasped,  going  very  red  with  dis 
may.  "What  a  fool  I—" 

"  I'll  try  the  Savoy,"  she  said  quickly,  and  then 
laughed  at  him.  His  face  was  the  picture  of  distress. 

"  I  shall  come  for  you  at  eight,"  he  said,  stopping 
the  taxi  at  once.  "  Good-bye  till  then." 


CROSSING  THE  CHANNEL  293 

He  got  out  and  gave  directions  to  the  chauffeur. 
Then  he  did  a  very  strange  thing.  He  hailed  another 
taxi  and,  climbing  in,  started  off  in  the  wake  of  the 
two  women.  From  a  point  of  vantage  near  the  cor 
ridor  leading  to  the  "  American  bar,"  he  saw  Hetty 
sign  her  slips  and  move  off  toward  the  lift.  Where 
upon,  seeing  that  she  was  quite  out  of  the  way,  he 
approached  the  manager's  office  and  asked  for  accom 
modations. 

"  Nothing  left,  sir." 

"  Not  a  thing?  " 

"  Everything  has  been  taken  for  weeks,  sir.  I'm 
sorry." 

"  Sorry,  too.  I  had  hoped  you  might  have  some 
thing  left  for  a  friend  who  expects  to  stop  here  —  a 
Miss  Castleton." 

"  Miss  Castleton  has  just  applied.  We  could  not 
give  her  anything." 

"Eh?" 

"  Fortunately  we  could  let  her  have  rooms  until 
eight  this  evening.  We  were  more  than  pleased  to 
offer  them  to  her  for  a  few  hours,  although  they  are 
reserved  for  parties  coming  down  from  Liverpool  to 
night." 

Booth  tried  the  Cecil  and  got  a  most  undesirable 
room.  Calling  up  the  Savoy  on  the  telephone,  he  got 
her  room.  The  maid  answered.  She  informed  him 
that  Miss  Castleton  had  just  that  instant  gone  out 
and  would  not  return  before  seven  o'clock. 

"  I  suppose  she  will  not  remove  her  trunks  from  the 
station  until  she  finds  a  permanent  place  to  lodge," 
he  inquired.  "  Can  I  be  of  any  service?  " 

"  I  think  not,  sir.     She  left  no  word,  sir." 

He  hung  up   the   receiver   and   straightway   dashed 


294          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

over  to  the  Savoy,  hoping  to  catch  her  before  she  left 
the  hotel.  Just  inside  the  door  he  came  to  an  abrupt 
stop.  She  was  at  the  news  and  ticket  booth  in  the 
lobby,  closely  engaged  in  conversation  with  the  clerk. 
Presently  the  latter  took  up  the  telephone,  and  after 
a  brief  conversation  with  some  one  at  the  other  end, 
turned  to  Hetty  and  nodded  his  head.  Whereupon 
she  nodded  her  own  adorable  head  and  began  the 
search  for  her  purse.  Booth  edged  around  to  an  ob 
scure  spot  and  saw  her  pay  for  and  receive  something 
in  return. 

"  By  Jove ! "  he  said  to  himself,  amazed. 

She  passed  near  him,  without  seeing  him,  and  went 
out  into  the  court.  He  watched  her  turn  into  the 
Strand. 

When  the  night  boat  from  Dover  to  Calais  slipped 
away  from  her  moorings  that  evening,  Hetty  Castle- 
ton  and  her  maid  were  on  board,  with  all  their  bags 
and  trunks,  and  Brandon  Booth  was  supposed  to  be 
completely  at  sea  in  the  heart  of  that  glittering  London- 
town. 

The  night  was  fog-laden  and  dripping,  and  the 
crossing  promised  to  be  unpleasant.  Wrapped  in  a 
thick  sea-ulster  Hetty  sat  huddled  up  in  the  lea  of 
the  deck-house,  sick  at  heart  and  miserable.  She  re 
proached  herself  for  the  scurvy  trick  she  was  playing 
on  him,  reviled  herself  and  yet  pitied  herself.  After 
all,  she  was  doing  him  a  good  turn  in  forcing  him  to 
despise  her  for  the  shameless  way  in  which  she  treated 
his  devotion,  his  fairness,  his  loyalty.  He  would  be 
happier  in  the  end  for  the  brief  spasm  of  pain  and  dis 
gust  he  was  to  experience  in  this  second  revelation  of 
her  unworthiness. 

Crouching  there  in   the   shadow,  with   the  foghorn 


CROSSING  THE  CHANNEL  295 

chortling  hoarsely  over  the  shabby  trick, —  so  it 
seemed  to  her, — she  stared  back  at  the  misty  glow 
of  the  pier  and  tried  to  pierce  the  distance  that  lay 
between  her  and  the  lights  o'  London,  so  many  leagues 
away.  He  was  there,  in  the  glitter  and  glamour  of  it 
all,  but  black  with  disappointment  and  wonder.  Oh, 
it  was  a  detestable  thing  she  had  done!  Her  poor 
heart  ached  for  him.  She  could  almost  see  the  despair, 
the  bewilderment  in  his  honest  eyes  as  he  sat  in  his 
room,  hours  after  the  discovery  of  her  flight,  defeated, 
betrayed,  disillusioned. 

There  were  but  few  people  crossing.  Sailors  stood 
by  the  rail,  peering  into  the  fog,  but  it  seemed  to  her 
that  no  one  else  was  afoot  on  board  the  steamer.  Al 
ready  the  boat  was  beginning  to  show  signs  of  the  un 
easy  trip  ahead.  Many  foghorns,  far  and  near,  were 
barking  their  lugubrious  warnings ;  the  choppy  waves 
were  slashing  against  the  vessel  with  a  steady  beat ; 
the  bobbling  of  the  ship  increased  as  it  plunged  deeper 
into  the  cross-seas.  But  she  had  no  thought  of  the 
ship,  the  channel  or  the  perils  that  surrounded  her. 
Her  mind  was  back  in  London  with  her  heart,  and 
there  was  nothing  ahead  of  her  save  the  dread  of  to 
morrow's  sunlight. 

She  was  a  good  sailor.  A  dozen  times,  perhaps,  she 
had  crossed  the  English  Channel,  in  fair  weather  and 
foul,  and  never  with  discomfort.  Her  maid,  she  knew, 
was  in  for  a  wretched  brawl  with  the  waves,  but  Hetty 
was  too  wise  a  sailor  to  think  of  trying  to  comfort 
the  unhappy  creature.  Misery  does  not  always  love 
company. 

A  tall  man  came  shambling  down  the  narrow  space 
along  the  rail  and  stopped  directly  in  front  of  her. 
She  started  in  alarm  as  he  reached  out  his  hand  to 


296          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

support  himself  against  the  deck  house.  As  he  leaned 
forward,  he  laughed. 

"  You  were  thinking  of  me,  Hetty,"  said  the  man. 

For  a  long  time  she  stared  at  him,  transfixed,  and 
then,  with  a  low  moan,  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands. 

"Is  it  true  —  is  it  a  dream?"  she  sobbed. 

He  dropped  down  beside  her  and  gathered  her  in 
his  strong,  eager  arms. 

"You  were  thinking  of  me,  weren't  you?  And  re 
proaching  yourself,  and  hating  yourself  for  running 
away  like  this?  I  thought  so.  Well,  you  might  just 
as  well  try  to  dodge  the  smartest  detective  in  the 
world  as  to  give  me  the  slip  now,  darling." 

"  You  —  you  spied  on  me  ?  "  she  cried,  in  muffled 
tones.  She  lay  very  limp  in  his  arms. 

"  I  did,"  he  confessed,  without  shame.  "  'Gad,  when 
I  think  of  what  I  might  be  doing  at  this  moment  if  I 
hadn't  found  you  out  in  time!  Think  of  me  back 
there  in  London,  racing  about  like  a  madman,  search 
ing  for  you  in  every  — " 

"  Please,  please !  "  she  implored. 

"  But  luck  was  with  me.  You  can't  get  away, 
Hetty.  I  shan't  let  you  out  of  my  sight  again.  I'll 
camp  in  front  of  your  door  and  you'll  see  me  wither 
and  die  of  sleeplessness,  for  one  or  the  other  of  my 
eyes  will  always  be  open." 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  tired,  so  miserable,"  she  murmured. 

"  Poor  little  sweetheart !  " 

"  I  wish  you  would  hate  me." 

"  Lie  where  you  are,  dearest,  and  —  forget !  " 

"If  I  only  could  — forget!" 

"  Rest.  I  will  hold  you  tight  and  keep  you  warm. 
We're  in  for  a  nasty  crossing,  but  it  is  paradise  for 
me.  I  am  mad  with  the  delight  of  having  you  here, 


CROSSING  THE  CHANNEL  297 

holding  you  close  to  me,  feeling  you  in  my  arms.  The 
wilder  the  night  the  better,  for  I  am  wild  with  the  joy 
of  it  all.  I  love  you !  I  love  you !  "  He  strained  her 
closer  to  him  in  a  sort  of  paroxysm. 

She  was  quiet  for  a  long  time.  Then  she  breathed 
into  his  ear: 

"  You  will  never  know  how  much  I  was  longing  for 
you,  just  as  you  are  now,  Brandon,  and  in  the  midst 
of  it  all  you  came.  It  is  like  a  fairy  story,  and  oh,  I 
shall  always  believe  in  fairies." 

All  about  them  were  the  sinister  sounds  of  the  fog 
—  the  hoots,  the  growls  and  groans  of  lost  things 
in  the  swirl  of  the  North  Sea  current,  creeping  blindly 
through  the  guideless  mist.  To  both  of  them,  the 
night  had  a  strangely  symbolic  significance:  whither 
were  they  drifting  and  where  lay  the  unseen  port? 

A  huge  liner  from  one  of  the  German  ports  slipped 
across  their  bows  with  hoarse  blasts  of  warning. 
They  saw  the  misty  glow  of  her  lights  for  an  instant, 
and  even  as  they  drew  the  sharp  breath  of  fear,  the 
night  resumed  its  mantle  and  their  own  little  vessel 
seemed  to  come  to  life  again  after  the  shock  of  alarm 
and  its  engines  throbbed  the  faster,  just  as  the  heart 
beats  quicken  when  reaction  sets  in. 

A  long  time  afterward  the  throbbing  ceased,  bell- 
buoys  whistled  and  clanged  about  them;  the  sea  sud 
denly  grew  calm  and  lifeless ;  they  slid  over  it  as  if  it 
were  a  quavering  sheet  of  ice;  and  lights  sneaked  out 
of  the  fog  and  approached  with  stealthy  swiftness. 
Bells  rang  below  and  above  them,  sailors  sprang  up 
from  everywhere  and  calls  were  heard  below;  the  rat 
tling  of  chains  and  the  thumping  of  heavy  luggage 
took  the  place  of  that  steady,  monotonous  beat  of  the 
engines.  People  began  to  infest  the  deck,  limp  and 


298          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

groaning,  harassed  but  voiceless.  A  mighty  sigh 
seemed  to  envelop  the  whole  ship  —  a  sigh  of  relief. 

Then  it  was  that  these  two  arose  stiffly  from  their 
sheltered  bench  and  gave  heed  to  the  things  that  were 
about  them. 

The   Channel  was   behind  them. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

RATTLING    OLD    BONES 

THEY  journeyed  to  Paris  by  the  night  mail.  He  was 
waiting  for  her  on  the  platform  when  she  descended 
from  the  wagon  lit  in  the  Gare  du  Nord.  Sleepy  pas 
sengers  crowded  with  them  into  the  customs  depart 
ment.  She,  alone  among  them  all,  was  smiling 
brightly,  as  if  the  world  could  be  sweet  at  an  hour 
when,  by  all  odds,  it  should  be  sleepiest. 

"  I  was  up  and  on  the  lookout  for  you  at  Amiens," 
he  declared,  as  they  walked  off  together.  "  You  might 
have  got  off  there,  you  know,"  with  a  wry  grin. 

"  I  shall  not  run  away  from  you  again,  Brandon," 
she  said  earnestly.  "  I  promise,  on  my  honour." 

"  By  Jove,"  he  cried,  "  that's  a  relief ! "  Then  he 
broke  into  a  happy  laugh. 

"  I  shall  go  to  the  Ritz,"  she  said,  after  her  effects 
had  been  examined  and  were  ready  for  release. 

"  I  thought  so,"  he  announced  calmly.  "  I  wired 
for  rooms  before  I  left  London." 

"  Really,  this  is  ridic  — " 

"  Don't  frown  like  that,  Hetty,"  he  pleaded. 

As  they  rattled  and  bounced  over  the  cobble-stones 
in  a  taxi-metre  on  the  way  to  the  Place  Vendome,  he 
devoted  the  whole  of  his  conversation  to  the  delicious 
breakfast  they  were  to  have,  expatiating  glibly  on  the 
wonderful  berries  that  would  come  first  in  that  always- 
to-be-remembered  meal.  She  was  ravenously  hungry 
by  the  time  they  reached  the  hotel,  just  from  listening 
to  his  dissertation  on  chops  and  rolls  and  coffee  as 
they  are  served  in  Paris,  to  say  nothing  of  waffles  and 

299 


300          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

honey  and  the  marmalade  that  no  Englishman  can  do 
without. 

Alone  in  his  room,  however,  he  was  quite  another 
person.  His  calm  assurance  took  flight  the  instant 
he  closed  the  door  and  moodily  began  to  prepare  for 
his  bath.  Resolution  was  undiminished,  but  the  facts 
in  the  case  were  most  desolating.  Whatever  it  was 
that  stood  between  them,  there  was  no  gainsaying  its 
power  to  influence  their  lives.  It  was  no  trifle  that 
caused  her  to  take  this  second  flight,  and  the  sooner 
he  came  to  realise  the  seriousness  of  opposition  the  bet 
ter. 

He  made  up  his  mind  on  one  point  in  that  half-hour 
before  breakfast:  if  she  asked  him  again  to  let  her  go 
her  way  in  peace,  it  was  only  fair  to  her  and  right 
that  he  should  submit  to  the  inevitable.  She  loved 
him,  he  was  sure  of  it.  Then  there  must  be  a  very 
good  reason  for  her  perplexing  attitude  toward  him. 
He  would  make  one  more  attempt  to  have  the  truth 
from  her.  Failing  in  that,  he  would  accept  the  situa 
tion  as  hopeless,  for  the  time  being  at  least.  She 
should  know  that  he  loved  her  deeply  enough  for  that. 

She  joined  him  in  the  little  open-air  cafe,  and  they 
sat  down  at  a  table  in  a  remote  corner.  There  were 
few  people  breakfasting.  In  her  tender  blue  eyes  there 
was  a  look  of  sadness  that  haunted  him,  even  as  she 
smiled  and  called  him  beloved. 

"  Hetty,  darling,"  he  said,  leaning  forward  and  lay 
ing  his  hand  on  hers,  "  can't  you  tell  me  what  it  is  ?  " 

She  was  prepared  for  the  question.  In  her  heart 
she  knew  the  time  had  come  when  she  must  be  fair 
with  him.  He  observed  the  pallor  that  stole  into  her 
warm,  smooth  cheeks  as  she  regarded  him  fixedly  for  a 
long  time  before  replying. 


RATTLING  OLD  BONES  301 

"  There  is  only  one  person  in  the  world  who  can 
tell  you,  Brandon.  It  is  for  her  to  decide.  I  mean 
Sara  Wrandall." 

He  felt  a  queer,  sickening  sensation  of  uneasiness 
sneak  into  existence.  In  the  back  of  his  mind,  a  hate 
ful  fear  began  to  shape  itself.  For  a  long  time  he 
looked  into  her  sombre  eyes,  and  as  he  looked  the  fear 
that  was  hateful  took  on  something  of  a  definite  shape. 

"  Did  you  know  her  husband?  "  he  asked,  and  some 
how  he  knew  what  the  answer  would  be. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  after  a  moment.  She  was 
startled.  Her  lips  remained  parted. 

He  watched  her  closely.  "  Has  this  —  this  secret 
anything  to  do  with  Challis  Wrandall?" 

"  It  has,"  said  she,  meeting  his  gaze  steadily. 

His  hands  clutched  the  edge  of  the  table  in  a  grip 
that  turned  the  knuckles  white. 

"  Hetty !  "  he  cried,  in  a  hoarse  whisper.  "  You 
—  can't  mean  that  you  — " 

"  You  must  go  to  Sara,"  she  cried  hurriedly. 
"  Haven't  I  told  you  that  she  is  the  one  — " 

"  Were  you  in  love  with  that  infernal  scoundrel  ?  " 
he  demanded  fiercely. 

"  Sara  knows  everything.      She  will  tell  you  — " 

"  Were  you  carrying  on  an  affair  with  him  while 
professing  to  be  the  friend  of  his  wife?  Tell  me  that! 
Did  she  find  you  out  and  — " 

"Oh,  Brandon,  why  will  you  persist?"  she  cried, 
her  eyes  aflame.  "  I  can  tell  you  no  more.  Why  do 
you  glare  at  me  as  if  I  were  the  meanest  thing  on 
earth?  Is  this  love?  Is  this  your  idea  of  greatness? 
Isn't  it  enough  for  you  to  know  that  Sara  is  my  loyal, 
devoted  friend ;  that  she  — " 

"  Wait !  "   he    commanded    darkly.     "  Is   it    possible 


302          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

that  she  did  not  discover  your  secret  until  the  day 
you  left  her  house  so  abruptly?  Does  that  explain 
your  sudden  departure?  " 

"  I  can  answer  that,"  she  said  quietly.  "  She  has 
known  everything  from  the  day  I  met  her.  I  have  not 
said  anything,  Brandon,  to  lead  you  to  believe  that  I 
was  in  love  with  Challis  Wrandall,  have  I?  " 

His  eyes  softened.  "  No,  you  haven't.  I  —  I  hope 
you  will  forget  what  I  said.  You  see,  I  knew  Wran- 
dall's  reputation.  He  had  no  sense  of  honour. 
He—" 

"  Well,  I  have!  "  she  said  levelly. 

He  flushed.  "  I  am  a  beast !  I'll  put  it  in  this  way, 
then :  Was  he  in  love  with  you  ?  " 

"  You  are  still  unfair.     I  shall  not  answer." 

He  was  silent  for  a  long  time.  "  And  Sara's  lips 
are  sealed,"  he  mused,  still  possessed  of  doubts  and 
fears. 

"  Until  she  elects  to  tell  the  story,  dearest  love,  my 
lips  are  also  sealed.  I  love  you  better  than  anything 
else  in  all  this  world.  I  could  willingly  offer  up  my 
life  for  you,  but  —  well,  my  life  does  not  belong  to  me. 
It  is  Sara's." 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Hetty,  what  is  all  this?"  he 
cried  in  desperation. 

"  I  can  say  no  more.  It  is  useless  to  insist,  Bran 
don.  If  you  can  wrest  the  story  from  her,  all  well 
and  good.  You  will  hate  me  then,  dear  love.  But  it 
cannot  be  helped.  I  am  prepared." 

"  Tell  me  this  much :  when  you  refused  to  marry 
Leslie,  was  your  course  inspired  by  what  had  happened 
in  —  in  connection  with  Challis  Wrandall?" 

"  You  forget  that  it  is  you  that  I  love,"  she  re 
sponded  simply. 


RATTLING  OLD  BONES  303 

"  But  why  should  Sara  urge  you  to  marry  Leslie 
if  there  is  anything — " 

"  Hush !  Here  is  the  waiter.  Come  to  my  sitting- 
room  after  breakfast.  I  have  something  to  say  to 
you.  We  must  come  to  a  definite  understanding. 
This  cannot  go  on." 

He  was  with  her  for  an  hour  in  that  pinched  little 
sitting-room,  and  left  her  there  without  a  vestige  of 
rancour  in  his  soul.  She  would  not  give  an  inch  in 
the  stand  she  had  taken,  but  something  immeasurably 
great  in  his  make-up  rose  to  the  occasion  and  he  went 
forth  with  the  conviction  that  he  had  no  right  to  de 
mand  more  of  her  than  she  was  ready  to  give.  He 
was  satisfied  to  abide  by  her  decision.  The  spell  of 
her  was  over  him  more  completely  than  ever  before. 

Two  days  later  he  saw  her  off  at  the  Gare  de  Lyons, 
bound  for  Interlaken.  There  was  a  complete  under 
standing  between  them.  She  wanted  to  be  quite  alone 
in  the  Alpine  town ;  he  was  not  to  follow  her  there. 
She  had  reserved  rooms  at  the  Schweitzerhof,  and  the 
windows  of  her  sitting-room  looked  straight  up  the  val 
ley  to  the  snow-covered  crest  of  the  Jungfrau.  She 
remembered  these  rooms ;  as  a  young  girl  she  had  occu 
pied  them  with  her  father  and  mother.  By  some  hook 
or  crook,  Booth  arranged  by  wire  for  her  to  have  them 
again,  not  an  easy  matter  at  that  season  of  the  year. 
Later  she  was  to  go  on  to  Lucerne,  and  then  to  Venice. 
,  The  slightest  shred  of  hope  was  left  for  Booth. 
Even  though  he  might  accomplish  the  task  he  had  set 
unto  himself  —  the  conquest  of  Sara  in  respect  to  the 
untold  story  —  he  still  had  Hetty's  dismal  prophecy 
that  after  he  learned  the  truth  he  would  come  to  see 
why  they  could  not  be  married.  But  he  would  not  de 
spair. 


304          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  We'll  see,"  was  all  that  he  said  in  response  to  her 
forlorn  cry  that  they  were  parting  for  ever.  There 
was  a  grimness  in  the  way  he  said  it  that  gave  her 
something  to  cherish  during  the  months  to  come;  the 
hope  that  he  would  come  back  and  take  her  in  spite 
of  herself. 

He  sailed  from  Cherbourg  on  the  first  steamship 
calling  there.  Awake,  he  thought  of  her;  asleep,  he 
dreamed  of  Challis  Wrandall.  There  was  something 
uncanny  in  the  persistence  with  which  that  ruthless 
despoiler  of  peace  forced  his  way  into  his  dreams,  to 
the  absolute  exclusion  of  all  else.  The  voyage  home 
was  made  horrid  by  these  nightly  reminders  of  a  man 
he  scarcely  knew,  yet  dreaded.  He  became  more  or 
less  obsessed  by  the  idea  that  an  evil  spell  had  de 
scended  upon  him  in  the  shape  of  a  ghostly  influence. 

The  weeks  passed  slowly  for  Hetty.  There  were 
no  letters  from  Sara,  but  an  occasional  line  or  so  from 
Mr.  Carroll.  She  had  made  Brandon  Booth  promise 
that  he  would  not  write  to  her,  nor  was  he  to  expect 
anything  from  her.  If  her  intention  was  to  cut  her 
self  off  entirely  from  her  recent  world  and  its  people, 
as  she  might  have  done  in  another  way  by  pursuing 
the  time-honoured  and  rather  cowardly  plan  of  enter 
ing  a  convent,  she  was  soon  to  discover  that  success 
in  the  undertaking  brought  a  deeper  sense  of  exile 
than  she  could  have  imagined  herself  able  to  endure 
at  the  outset.  She  found  herself  more  utterly  alone 
and  friendless  than  at  any  time  in  her  life.  The 
chance  companions  she  formed  at  Interlaken, —  de 
spite  a  well-meant  reserve, —  served  only  to  increase 
her  feeling  of  loneliness  and  despair.  The  very  nat 
ural  attentions  of  men,  young  and  old,  depressed  her, 
instead  of  encouraging  that  essentially  feminine  thing 


RATTLING  OLD  BONES  305 

called  vanity.  She  lived  as  one  without  an  aim,  with 
out  a  single  purpose  except  to  close  one  day  that  she 
might  begin  the  next. 

After  a  time,  she  went  on  to  Lucerne.  Here  the 
life  on  the  surface  was  gayer,  and  she  was  roused 
from  her  state  of  lethargy  in  spite  of  herself.  Once, 
from  her  little  balcony  in  the  National,  she  saw  two 
of  her  old  acquaintances  in  the  chorus  at  the  Gaiety. 
They  were  wearing  many  pearls.  Another  time,  she 
met  them  in  the  street.  She  was  rather  quietly 
dressed.  They  did  not  notice  her.  But  the  prosper 
ous  Hebraic  gentlemen  who  attended  them  were  not 
so  careless. 

One  day  a  card  was  brought  to  her  rooms.  For  the 
next  two  weeks  she  had  a  true  and  unavoidable  friend 
in  Lucerne.  It  would  appear  that  Mrs.  Rowe-Martin 
had  not  been  apprised  of  the  rift  in  the  Wrandall 
lute.  She  had  no  reason  to  consider  the  exclusive 
Miss  Castleton  as  anything  but  the  most  desirable  of 
companions.  Mrs.  Rowe-Martin  was  not  long  in  find 
ing  out  (though  how  she  did  it,  heaven  knows!),  that 
Lord  Murgatroyd's  grandniece  was  no  longer  the  inti 
mate  of  that  impossible  person,  Sara  Gooch.  She 
couldn't  think  of  Sara  without  thinking  of  Gooch. 

But  at  last  Mrs.  Rowe-Martin  departed,  much  to 
Hetty's  secret  relief,  but  not  before  she  had  increased 
the  girl's  burthens  by  introducing  her  into  a  cold- 
nosed  cosmopolitan  set  from  which  there  were  but 
three  ways  of  escape.  She  refused  to  marry  one  of 
them,  denied  another  the  privilege  of  making  love  to 
her,  and  declined  to  play  auction  bridge  with  all  of 
them.  They  were  not  long  in  dropping  her,  although 
it  must  be  said  there  was  real  regret  among  the  men. 

From  Mrs.  Rowe-Martin  and  others  she  heard  that 


306          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

Mrs.  Redmond  Wrandall  and  Vivian  were  to  be  in 
Scotland  in  October,  for  somebody-or-other's  christen 
ing,  and  that  Leslie  had  been  doing  some  really  won 
derful  flying  at  Pau. 

"  I  am  so  glad,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Rowe-Martin, 
*'  that  you  refused  to  marry  Leslie.  He  is  a  cad. 
Besides,  you  would  have  been  in  a  perpetual  state  of 
nerves  over  his  flying." 

Of  Sara,  there  was  no  news,  as  might  have  been  ex 
pected.  Mrs.  Rowe-Martin  made  it  very  clear  that 
Sara  was  a  respectable  person, —  but  heavens! 

The  chill  days  of  autumn  came  and  the  crowd  began 
to  dwindle.  Hetty  made  preparations  to  join  in  the 
exodus.  As  the  days  grew  short  and  bleak,  she  found 
herself  thinking  more  and  more  of  the  happy-hearted, 
symbolic  dicky-bird  on  a  faraway  window  ledge.  His 
life  was  neither  a  travesty  nor  a  tragedy ;  hers  was 
both  of  these. 

Something  told  her  too  that  Brandon  Booth  had 
wormed  the  truth  out  of  Sara,  and  that  she  would 
never  see  him  again.  It  hurt  her  to  think  that  while 
Sara  believed  in  her,  the  man  who  loved  her  did  not. 
It  is  a  way  men  have. 

On  the  eve  of  her  departure,  an  event  transpired 
that  was  to  alter  the  whole  course  of  her  life;  or, 
more  properly  speaking,  it  was  destined  to  put  her 
baok  into  an  old  groove. 

She  was  walking  along  the  quay,  in  the  dusk  of 
early  evening,  her  mind  full  of  the  next  day's  jour 
ney  over  the  mountains  to  Milan.  The  wind  was  cold ; 
about  her  neck  there  was  a  boa  of  white  ostrich 
feathers,  one  end  of  which  fluttered  gaily  over  her 
shoulder.  She  was  continually  turning  half-way  about 
against  the  wind  to  reclaim  the  truant  end  of  the  boa. 


RATTLING  OLD  BONES  307 

It  was  in  the  act  of  doing  so  on  one  occasion  that  her 
attention  was  drawn  to  two  men  who  sauntered  across 
the  avenue  from  the  approach  to  the  Schweitzerhof. 

She  stopped  still  in  her  tracks,  petrified  by  amaze 
ment  —  and  alarm,  if  we  may  anticipate  the  sensation 
by  a  second  or  two. 

One  of  the  men  was  Leslie  Wrandall,  the  other  — > 
her  own  father! 

In  a  flash  came  the  impulse  to  avoid  them,  to  fly 
before  they  recognised  her.  But  even  as  she  turned 
and  started  off  with  a  sudden  acceleration  of  speed,  a 
shout  assailed  her  ears,  and  then  came  the  swift  rush 
of  footsteps  over  the  hard  pavement. 

"  Hetty !  As  I  live ! "  cried  Leslie,  planting  him 
self  in  front  of  her.  His  astonishment  alone  kept  him 
from  laying  hands  upon  her,  to  make  sure  that  she 
was  really  there.  "  Well,  of  all  the  — " 

She  extended  her  hand.  "  This  is  a  surprise,"  she 
said,  with  admirable  control.  "  I  hadn't  the  faintest 
notion  you  were  in  Lucerne." 

"  By  Jove !  "  he  mumbled,  shaking  hands  with  her 
but  still  dazed  and  uncertain.  He  suddenly  remem 
bered  his  companion.  Turning  with  a  shout,  he 
brought  the  soldierly,  middle-aged  gentleman  about- 
face  with  scant  ceremony.  "  Hey !  Colonel  Castle- 
ton!  See  who's  here!  Doesn't  this  bowl  you  over 
completely  ?  " 

Colonel  Castleton,  sallow,  ascetic,  deliberate  in  his 
movements,  raised  his  glass  to  his  eye  as  he  came  to 
ward  them. 

"  'Pon  my  soul  I"  burst  from  his  astonished  lips  a 
second  afterward.  He  stopped  short  and  his  jaw 
dropped  in  a  most  unmilitary  fashion.  "  'Pon  my 
soul!  It  can't  be  my  daughter!"  He  seemed  to  be: 


308          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

having  difficulty  not  only  with  his  head  but  with  his 
feet;  neither  appeared  to  be  operating  intelligently. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  stood  for  an  instant  on  his 
toes  and  then  on  his  heels.  He  was  perilously  near 
to  being  bowled  over  completely  and  literally. 

Hetty  was  the  first  to  recover.  She  advanced  with 
a  fair  assumption  of  warmth  in  her  manner.  Her 
heart,  belying  her,  was  as  cold  as  ice. 

"  Father !  "  she  cried,  holding  out  her  hands. 

He  grasped  them,  and  looked  wildly  about. 

"  Kiss  me !  "  she  whispered  imperatively. 

He  stooped  and  brushed  her  cheek  with  his  long 
moustache. 

"  Good  God !  "  he  muttered,  still  incredulous. 

She  turned  to  the  excited  Leslie  with  a  quavering 
smile  on  her  lips. 

"  We  haven't  seen  each  other  in  twelve  years,  Mr. 
Wrandall,"  she  said. 

"  'Pon  my  soul !  "  added  her  father  for  the  third 
time,  thereby  reaching  the  limit  of  emphasis,  having 
placed  it  differently  each  time. 

Leslie  surprised  himself  by  rising  to  the  occasion. 
It  occurred  to  him  that  they  would  like  to  be  alone  for 
a  little  while  at  least. 

"Then,  I'll  stroll  on,  Colonel,"  he  said.  "By 
Jove ! "  The  mild  expletive  was  a  tribute  to  Provi 
dence. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  by  father  or  daughter  until 
Wrandall  was  many  rods  away. 

"  Where  did  you  meet  Leslie  Wrandall  ?  "  she  de 
manded,  showing  which  way  her  thoughts  ran.  They 
were  far  from  filial. 

"  Aviation  field  —  somewhere,"  said  he  in  a  vague 
sort  of  way.  "  Pau,  I  dare  say.  What  are  you  do- 


RATTLING  OLD  BONES  309 

ing  here?  I  hear  you've  cut  loose  from  Wrandall's 
sister-in-law.  Was  that  a  sensible  thing  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  fancy  you've  been  misinformed,"  said  she  in  an 
emotionless  voice,  but  offered  no  further  word  of  ex 
planation. 

"  Shan't  we  sit  down  here  on  this  bench,  my  dear?  " 
suggested  the  Colonel,  distinctly  ill  at  ease. 

"  For  the  sake  of  appearances,  yes,"  she  assented. 

Leslie,  looking  over  his  shoulder  from  a  distance, 
saw  them  sitting  together  on  one  of  the  outer  benches. 

"  By  Jove ! "  he  said  to  himself  once  more,  this  time 
with  accumulative  perplexity. 

"  See  here,  Hetty,  my  child,"  began  the  Colonel  nerv 
ously,  "  it's  all  nonsense  your  taking  the  stand  you  do 
toward  me.  I  am  your  father.  I  repeat,  it's  all 
nonsense  —  damned  nonsense.  You've  got  to  — " 

"  Has  it  taken  you  all  these  years  to  find  out  that 
it's  nonsense? "  she  demanded,  her  eyes  flashing. 
"  It's  no  good  arguing,  father.  I  don't  like  you. 
There  is  a  very  good  reason  why  I  should  despise  you. 
We  won't  go  into  it.  After  this  meeting,  we  go  our 
separate  ways  again.  This,  it  seems,  was  unavoidable. 
I  shan't  ask  anything  of  you,  and  I  advise  you  to  ask 
nothing  of  me." 

"My  God,  that  a  child  should  utter  such  words  to 
a  father ! "  he  groaned. 

"  A  father ! "  she  cried  so  scornfully  that  he  must 
have  shrivelled  had  he  been  any  one  else  but  Colonel 
Castleton  of  the  Indian  Corps.  As  it  was,  he  had  the 
grace  to  turn  a  very  bright  red.  "  A  noble  father 
you  have  been!  And  what  a  splendid,  self-sacrificing 
husband  you  were.  No!  I  can't  forget  how  my 
mother  lived  and  died.  You  call  it  nonsense.  Well,  I 
call  it  something  else.  You  took  a  most  effective  way 


310          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

to  punish  my  poor  mother  for  having  the  temerity  to 
marry  an  English  gentleman.  Thank  God,  I  have  my 
mother  to  look  back  to  for  my  own  ideas  of  gentility." 

"  You  never  understood  the  way  things  went  wrong 
between  your  mother  and  me,"  he  said  harshly.  "  She 
wasn't  all  you  may  be  pleased  to  think  she  was. 
She  — " 

"  How  dare  you  insinuate  — " 

"  She  chucked  me.     That's  the  sum  and  sub  — " 

"  Oh,  I  was  old  enough  to  know  that  she  left  you  — 
chucked  you,  if  you  will  —  and  to  know  why  she  did  it. 
I  —  I  suppose  you  are  looked  upon  by  —  these  people 
here  —  Leslie  Wrandall  and  every  one  else,  as  a  fine 
English  gentleman,  a  cousin  of  the  great  Lord  Murga- 
troyd.  Are  you?  " 

"  Confound  you,  Hetty,  how  dare  you  use  such  a 
tone  in  speaking  to  me?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  They  think  you  are  a  gentleman,  do  they?  " 

"  Think?  Why,  dammit,  I  am  a  gentleman.  The 
only  ungentlemanly  thing  I  ever  did  in  my  life  was 
to  — "  He  checked  the  angry  words,  biting  his  lips 
to  keep  them  down. 

"  Was  to  desert  your  wife,"  she  supplied  scathingly. 

"  No !  To  marry  her ! "  He  blurted  it  out  in  his 
rage. 

"  Oh !  "  she  cried,  shrinking  farther  away  from  him, 
cut  to  the  quick. 

He  regarded  her  with  cold,  fishy  eyes.  She  was  un 
commonly  pretty,  he  was  bound  to  admit  that.  Her 
mother's  eyes,  her  mother's  exquisite  skin,  but  singu 
larly  like  certain  Castleton  portraits  that  he  knew. 
It  somehow  galled  him  to  find  that  there  was  quite  as 
much  of  the  blue-blooded  Castleton  in  her  as  there 
was  commonplace  Glynn ;  galled  him  more  particularly 


RATTLING  OLD  BONES  311 

because  she  was  his  own  flesh  and  blood  after  all  and,, 
in  spite  of  that,  could  taunt  him  with  it. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you,  Hetty,"  he  said,  to  his 
own  surprise.  The  touch  of  tenderness  had  a  brief 
life.  He  scowled  an  instant  later.  "  We  won't  dis 
cuss  the  past,  if  you  please.  God  knows  I  don't  want 
to  dig  up  rotten  bones.  You  are  against  your  own 
father.  That's  enough  for  me.  I  shan't  impose  my 
self  upon  you.  You  — " 

"  Why  couldn't  you  have  treated  her  with  — "  be 
gan  Hetty  hotly. 

"  Sh !  No  more  of  that,  I  say.  I  will  not  be  up 
braided  by  my  own  child.  Now,  see  here,  what  do 
you  mean  by  letting  a  chance  like  that  get  away  from 
you?"  He  jerked  his  head  in  the  direction  Leslie 
had  taken. 

"  Chance?  " 

"Yes.  This  Wrandall  fellow.  'Gad,  I've  known 
him  less  than  a  fortnight  and  he's  told  me  every  secret 
he  ever  knew.  Why  don't  you  marry  him?  He's  not 
a  bad  sort." 

"  That  is  my  affair,"  said  she  coldly. 

"  I'd  take  him  like  a  shot  if  I  was  a  gel  in  your 
shoes." 

"  He  told  you  I  had  refused  to  marry  him  ?  " 

"  A  hundred  times." 

"  Did  you  reward  his  confidence  by  relating  the 
whole  history  of  the  Castleton  family?  " 

He  stared  at  her.  "  Good  Lord,  do  you  think  I'm 
an  ass?  " 

"What  have  you  told  him?" 

"  Nothing.  I  permitted  him  to  do  all  the  telling. 
He  gave  me  a  highly  commendable  account  of  myself, 
of  you,  of  the  fine  old  family  of  Glynns  and  —  God 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

knows  what  all.  He  restored  my  pride,  'pon  my  soul 
he  did."  The  Colonel  laughed  as  he  twisted  his  mous 
tache  with  ironic  fondness. 

She  was  quite  still  for  a  minute  or  two.  "  I  heard 
you  were  in  England,"  she  said,  changing  the  subject. 

"  It  may  interest  you  to  know  that  the  old  man  over 
looked  us  completely,"  he  said,  striking  the  calf  of  his 
leg  with  his  thin  walking-stick. 

"  Why  should  he  leave  anything  to  you  ?  " 

"And  why  not,  curse  him?"  he  growled.  "Am  I 
not  his  brother's  son?  What  do  you  mean  by  asking 
a  question  like  that  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  will  say  good-bye  to  you  now,  father," 
she  said  deliberately.  "  We  may  never  see  each  other 
again."  She  arose  and  stood  before  him,  cold  and 
proud,  without  a  spark  of  emotion  in  her  eyes. 

He  sat  still,  looking  up  at  her  in  surprise.  "  Do 
you  think  you're  doing  the  right  thing,  Hetty  ?  "  he 
asked,  annoyed  in  spite  of  himself.  "  Remember  that 
I  am  your  father.  I  can  and  will  overlook  all  you 
have  said  and  done  — " 

"  If  you  will  go  to  her  grave  and  kneel  there  and 
ask  her  pardon,  I  may  think  differently  of  you  be 
cause,  after  all,  I  am  your  daughter.  You  will  not 
find  her  buried  among  the  stately  Castletons,  but  in  a 
poor  little  spot  far,  far  away  from  them.  I  can  tell 
you  how  to  find  it.  You  have  never  inquired,  I  sup 
pose  ?  " 

His  eyes  narrowed.  "  By  Jove,  you  are  a  mean  lit 
tle  beggar ! " 

"  Mean?  "  she  cried,  clenching  her  hands.  Then  she 
laughed  suddenly,  shrilly.  "  Oh,  if  my  mother  could 
hear  you  say  that  to  me ! " 

"  Damme ! "  he  exclaimed,  coming  to  his  feet  in  con- 


RATTLING  OLD  BONES  313 

siderable  agitation.  "  Do  you  want  people  to  hear 
us  ragging  each  other?  Don't  go  into  hysterics, 
Hetty!  See  here,  do  you  forget  that  I  have  written 
to  you  —  loving  letters  they  were  —  from  the  heart 
—  written,  I  say,  over  and  over  again  and  what  do  I 
get  in  return?  Not  a  single  stroke  of  the  pen  from 
you,  except  the  note  a  year  ago  telling  me  where  you 
were  and — " 

"  And  that  was  merely  to  relieve  your  anxiety  when 
you  found  I'd  given  up  my  work  on  the  stage  and 
might  become  a  burden  on  you.  Oh,  I  read  between 
your  lines." 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort.  I  never  wanted  you  to  go 
on  the  stage.  Why  have  you  persistently  refused  to 
answer  my  subsequent  letters  ?  " 

"  Because  I  read  between  the  lines  in  all  of  them," 
she  said  levelly. 

"  You  have  no  right  to  say  that  I  expected  you  to 
get  money  out  of  that  bally  Wrandall  woman  —  the 
goods  merchant's  daughter.  That's  downright  insult 
ing  in  you.  I  shan't  let  it  go  undefend — " 

"  You  knew  I  couldn't  lend  you  a  thousand  pounds, 
father,"  said  she,  very  slowly  and  distinctly. 

He  coughed,  perhaps  in  apology  to  her  but  more 
than  likely  to  himself. 

"  You  are  at  liberty,"  she  went  on,  "  to  tell  Mr. 
Leslie  Wrandall  all  there  is  to  tell  about  me.  He 
doesn't  know,  but  it  won't  matter  much  if  he  does 
have  the  truth  concerning  me.  Tell  him  all  if  you 
like." 

"  My  child,"  said  he,  with  a  fine  display  of  wounded 
dignity,  "  I  am  not  quite  the  rotter  you  think  I  am." 

He  did  not  feel  called  upon  to  explain  to  her  that 
he  had  already  borrowed  a  thousand  pounds  from  her 


314          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

disappointed  suitor,  and  was  setting  his  nets  for  an 
other  thousand  or  two. 

"  It  really  won't  matter,"  she  said  wearily. 
"  Good-bye.  I  am  leaving  at  nine  to-morrow  for 
Italy." 

"  See  you  at  dinner?     Or  afterward,  just  for  a — " 

"  I  think  not.     I  do  not  care  to  see  Mr.  Wrandall." 

"  Think  it  over  again,  Hetty.     Don't  — " 

"  Oh,  father !  How  can  you  say  such  things  to 
me?  "  she  cried,  a  break  in  her  voice. 

"  Good  God,  my  dear,  isn't  it  natural  for  a  father 
to  want  to  see  his  daughter  well  provided  for?  " 

She  turned  away. 

"  I  am  contemplating  a  visit  to  the  States  shortly," 
he  remarked,  following  after  her. 

She  whirled  on  him.     "  What !  " 

"  Young  Wrandall  has  asked  me  over  for  a  month 
or  two  about  the  first  of  the  year.  His  people  are  in 
Scotland  now,  I  hear." 

"  Are  you  through  with  India  ? "  she  asked  in  a 
very  low  voice. 

"  Resigned,"  said  he  succinctly. 

"  Truly?  " 

He  flushed  and  muttered  an  oath.  She  understood. 
He  had  been  "  kicked  out !  " 

"  Hello ! "  called  out  a  sprightly  voice  from  the 
gathering  darkness,  and  the  next  moment  Leslie  joined 
them.  "  Have  dinner  with  us  to-night,  Hetty  ?  Just 
the  three  of  us.  Please  do." 

"  No,  thank  you,  Mr.  Wrandall.  I  am  getting 
ready  to  leave  to-morrow.  Packing  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing." 

"Did  Colonel  Castleton  tell  you  that  I'm  off  for 
New  York  on  Saturday?  Mother  and  Viv  are  to  get 


RATTLING  OLD  BONES  315 

the  boat  at  Southampton.  I  thought  you'd  be  inter 
ested  to  know  what's  just  turned  up  over  there?  " 

"What  has  happened?"  she  cried  quickly. 

Leslie  hesitated.  A  curious  gleam  stole  into  his 
eyes.  Was  it  of  triumph? 

"  Father's  got  rather  old-fashioned  ideas  about  cer 
tain  things,"  he  observed,  by  way  of  preface.  "  He 
writes  that  Sara  is  contemplating  a  second  venture 
into  the  state  of  wedded  bliss." 

Hetty  stared  at  him.  "I  —  I  don't  believe  it/' 
she  said  flatly.  "  How  can  it  be  possible?  She  sees 
no  one." 

He  laughed.  "  You're  wrong  there,"  said  he  men 
daciously.  "  She's  been  seeing  a  great  deal  of  a  cer 
tain  mutual  friend  of  ours  —  all  summer  long." 

"You  mean?" 

"  Brandon  Booth.  Father  says  that  rumour  has 
it  they  are  to  be  married  after  the  holidays.  I  fancy 
he  needed  consolation,  after  what  happened  to  him 
earlier  in  the  year.  He  was  pretty  hard  hit,  believe 
me."  After  a  moment,  he  went  on  boldly :  "  I  ought 
to  be  in  a  position  to  sympathise  with  him,  I  suppose, 
but  I  don't.  It  isn't  in  me  to  — " 

44  You  say  they  are  to  be  married?"  cried  Hetty, 
dazed  and  bewildered. 

They  had  fallen  behind  Colonel  Castleton,  who 
walked  on  stiffly  ahead  of  them. 

Leslie  treated  her  to  his  most  engaging  smile. 

"  Looks  very  Goochy ,  doesn't  it  ?  I'm  coming  to 
believe  more  than  ever  that  blood  will  tell.  Sara 
knew  what  she  was  doing  when  she  cleared  her  decks 
for  action  a  few  months  ago.  'Gad,  I  understand 
now  why  she  was  so  eager  to  bring  off  the  —  well, 
another  match  we  know  about.  Pretty  canny,  eh?  " 


316          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  It  is  incredible,"  said  she,  with  unnecessary  ve 
hemence. 

"  Not  in  the  least.  Clever  person,  Sara  is.  Sets 
her  heart  on  a  thing,  and  —  woof!  she  gets  it,  whether 
or  no.  Now,  don't  misunderstand  me.  I'm  fond  of 
Brandon  Booth.  We  all  are.  We  don't  object  to  him 
as  a  sort  of  family  attachment.  But  if  she's  going 
to  marry  him,  we  want  to  know  where  we  stand  in  a 
business  way.  You  see,  he  will  not  only  step  into  my 
brother  Chal's  shoes  at  home,  but  at  the  office.  And, 
heaven  knows,  Brandy  is  not  a  good  business  man. 
He's  great  on  portraits,  but  —  I  beg  pardon  1 " 

"  I  must  leave  you  here,  Mr.  Wrandall.  Good 
bye!" 

"  Oh,  I  say,  can't  we  see  something  of  — " 

"  I  am  afraid  not." 

He  kept  pace  with  her  through  the  hall. 

"  I  suppose  your  father  told  you  that  I  —  I  haven't 
altogether  given  up  hope  of  —  you." 

"  He  spoke  of  going  to  America  with  you,  if  that's 
what  you  mean,"  she  said  coldly,  and  left  him  at  the 
foot  of  the  staircase. 

Leslie's  hand  trembled  as  it  went  up  to  his  mous 
tache.  "  I  can't  understand  her  beastly  obstinacy," 
he  said  to  himself. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

VIVIAN  AIRS  HER   OPINIONS 

CHIEF  among  Booth's  virtues  was  his  undeviating  loy 
alty  to  a  set  purpose.  He  went  back  to  America  with 
the  firm  intention  to  clear  up  the  mystery  surrounding 
Hetty  Castleton,  no  matter  how  irksome  the  delay  in 
achieving  his  aim  or  how  vigorous  the  methods  he 
would  have  to  employ.  Sara  Wrandall,  to  all  pur 
poses,  held  the  key;  his  object  in  life  now  was  to 
induce  her  to  turn  it  in  the  lock  and  throw  open  the 
door  so  that  he  might  enter  in  and  become  a  sharer  in 
the  secrets  beyond. 

A  certain  amount  of  optimistic  courage  attended 
him  in  his  campaign  against  what  had  been  described 
to  him  as  the  impossible.  He  could  see  no  clear  rea 
son  why  she  should  withhold  the  secret  under  the  new 
conditions,  when  so  much  in  the  shape  of  happiness 
was  at  stake.  It  was  in  this  spirit  of  confidence  that 
he  prepared  to  confront  her  on  his  arrival  in  New 
York,  and  it  was  the  same  unbounded  faith  in  the  be 
lief  that  nothing  evil  could  result  from  a  perfectly 
just  and  honourable  motive  that  gave  him  the  needed 
courage. 

He  stayed  over  night  in  New  York,  and  the  next 
morning  saw  him  on  his  way  to  Southlook.  There 
was  something  truly  ingenuous  in  his  desire  to  get  to 
the  bottom  of  the  matter  without  fear  or  apprehension. 
At  the  very  worst,  he  maintained,  there  could  be  noth 
ing  more  reprehensible  than  a  passing  infatuation, 
long  since  dispelled,  or  perhaps  a  mildly  sinister  epi 
sode  in  which  virtue  had  been  triumphant  and  vice 

317 


818          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

defeated  with  unpleasant  results  to  at  least  one  per 
son,  and  that  person  the  husband  of  Sara  Wrandall. 

Pat  met  him  at  the  station  and  drove  him  to  the 
little  cottage  on  the  upper  road. 

"  Ye  didn't  stay  long,"  said  he  reflectively,  after 
he  had  put  the  bag  up  in  front.  He  took  up  the  reins. 

"  Not  very,"  replied  his  master. 

After  a  dozen  rods  or  more,  Pat  tried  again. 

"  Just  siventeen  days,  I  make  it." 

"  Seems  longer." 

"Perhaps  you'll  be  after  going  back  soon." 

"Why  should  you  think  that,  Patrick?  " 

"  Because  you  don't  seem  to  be  takin'  much  interest 
In  your  surroundin's  here,"  said  Pat  loftily.  He  de 
livered  a  smart  smack  on  the  crupper  with  his  stubby 
whip,  and  pursed  his  lips  for  the  companionship  to 
be  derived  from  whistling. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  why  I  went  to  Europe,"  said 
Booth,  laying  his  hand  affectionately  on  the  man's 
arm. 

"  Sure  I  do,"  said  Pat,  forgetting  to  whistle. 
*'  And  was  it  bad  luck  you  had,  sor?  " 

"  A  temporary  case  of  it,  I'm  afraid." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Irishman,  looking  up  at  his  em 
ployer  with  the  most  profound  encouragement  in  his 
wink,  "  if  it's  anny  help  to  you,  sor,  I'll  say  that  I've 
niver  found  bad  luck  to  be  annything  but  timporary. 
And,  believe  me,  I've  had  plinty  of  it.  Mary  was 
dom  near  three  years  makin'  up  her  mind  to  say  yis 
to  me." 

"And  since  then  you've  had  no  bad  luck?"  said 
Booth,  with  a  smile. 

"  Plinty  of  it,  begob,  but  I've  had  some  one  besides 
meself  to  blame  for  it.  There's  a  lot  in  that,  Mr. 


VIVIAN  AIRS  HER  OPINIONS  319 

Brandon.  Whin  a  man  marries,  he  simply  divides  his 
luck  into  two  parts,  good  and  bad,  and  if  he's  like 
most  men  he  puts  the  bulk  av  the  bad  luck  on  his 
wife  and  kapes  to  himself  all  he  can  av  the  good  for  a 
rainy  day.  That's  what  makes  him  a  strong  man  and 
able  to  meet  trouble  when  it  comes.  The  beauty  av 
the  arrangement  is  that  bad  luck  is  only  timporary 
and  a  woman  enjoys  talking  about  it,  while  good  luck 
is  wid  us  nine-tinths  of  the  time,  whether  we  know  it 
or  not,  and  we  don't  have  to  talk  about  it." 

This  was  fine  philosophy,  but  Booth  discerned  the 
underlying  motive. 

"  Have  you  been  quarrelling?  " 

"  I  have  not"  said  Pat  wrathfully.  "  But  I  won't 
say  as  much  for  Mary.  The  point  av  me  argument 
is  that  I  have  all  the  good  luck  in  havin'  married  her, 
and  she  claims  to  have  had  all  the  bad  luck  in  marryin* 
me.  Still,  as  I  said  before,  'tis  but  timporary.  The 
good  luck  lasts  and  the  bad  don't.  She'll  be  after 
tellin'  me  so  before  sundown.  That's  like  all  women. 
You'll  find  it  out  for  yourself  wan  o'  these  days,  Mr. 
Brandon,  and  ye'll  be  dom  proud  ye're  a  man  and  can 
enjoy  your  good  luck  when  ye  get  it.  The  bad  luck's 
always  fallin'  behind  ye,  and  ye  can  always  look  for 
ward  to  the  good  luck.  So  don't  be  down-hearted. 
She'll  take  you,  or  me  name's  not  what  it  ought  to  be." 

Booth  was  inclined  to  accept  this  unique  discourse 
as  a  fair-weather  sign. 

"  Take  these  bags  upstairs,  Pat,"  said  he  on  their 
arrival  at  the  cottage,  "  and  then  come  down  and  drive 
me  over  to  Mrs.  Wrandall's." 

"  Will  ye  be  after  stayin'  for  lunch  with  her,  Mr. 
Brandon  ?  "  inquired  Pat,  climbing  over  the  wheel. 

"  I  can't  answer  that  question  now." 


320          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  Hiven  help  both  av  us  if  Mary's  good  luncheon 
goes  to  waste,"  said  Pat  ominously.  "  That's  all  I 
have  to  say.  She'll  take  it  out  av  both  av  us." 

"  Ten  her  I'll  be  here  for  lunch,"  said  Booth,  with 
alacrity.  From  which  it  may  be  perceived  that  mas 
ter  and  man  were  of  one  mind  when  it  came  to  con 
sidering  the  importance  of  Mary. 

Pat  studied  his  watch  for  a  moment  with  a  cal 
culating  eye. 

"  It's  half -past  eliven  now,  sor,"  he  announced. 
"  D'ye  think  ye  can  make  it  ?  " 

Booth  reflected.  "  I  think  not,"  he  said.  "  I'll  have 
luncheon  first."  Whereupon  he  leaped  from  the  trap 
and  went  in  to  tell  Mary  how  happy  he  was  to  be 
where  he  could  enjoy  home-cooking. 

At  four  he  was  delivered  at  Sara's  door  by  the  astute 
Patrick,  announced  by  the  sedate  Watson  and  inter 
rogated  by  the  intelligent  Murray,  who  seemed  sur 
prised  to  hear  that  he  would  not  have  anything  cool 
to  drink.  Sara  sent  word  that  she  would  be  down  in 
fifteen  minutes,  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  appeared 
in  less  than  three. 

She  came  directly  to  the  point. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  with  her  mysterious  smile,  "  she 
sent  you  back  to  me,  I  see."  He  was  still  clasping 
her  hand. 

"  Have  you  heard  from  her  ?  "  he  asked  quickly. 

"  No.  But  I  knew  just  what  would  happen.  I 
told  you  it  would  prove  to  be  a  wild  goose  chase. 
Where  is  she?  " 

He  sat  down  beside  her  on  the  cool,  white  covered 
couch. 

"  In  Switzerland.  I  put  her  on  the  train  the  night 
before  I  sailed.  Yes,  she  did  send  me  back  to  you. 


VIVIAN  AIRS  HER  OPINIONS  321 

Now  I'm  here,  I  want  the  whole  story,  Sara.  What 
is  it  that  stands  between  us  ?  " 

For  an  hour  he  pleaded  with  her,  all  to  no  purpose. 
She  steadfastly  refused  to  divulge  the  secret.  Not 
even  his  blunt  reference  to  Challis  Wrandall's  connec 
tion  with  the  affair  found  a  vulnerable  spot  in  her 
armour. 

"  I  shan't  give  it  up,  Sara,"  he  said,  at  the  end  of 
his  earnest  harangue  against  the  palpably  unfair  stand 
both  she  and  Hetty  were  taking.  "  I  mean  to  harass 
you,  if  you  please,  until  I  get  what  I'm  after.  It  is 
of  the  most  vital  importance  to  me.  Quite  as  much 
so,  I  am  sure,  as  it  appears  to  be  to  you.  If  Hetty 
will  say  the  word,  I'll  take  her  gladly,  just  as  she  is, 
without  knowing  what  all  this  is  about.  But,  you  see, 
she  won't  consent.  There  must  be  some  way  to  over 
ride  her.  You  both  admit  there  is  no  legal  barrier. 
You  tell  me  to-day  that  there  is  no  insanity  in  her 
family,  and  a  lot  of  other  things  that  I've  been  able 
to  bring  out  by  questioning,  so  I  am  more  than  ever 
certain  that  the  obstacle  is  not  so  serious  as  you  would 
have  me  believe.  Therefore,  I  mean  to  pester  you  un 
til  you  give  in,  my  dear  Sara." 

"  Very  well,"  she  said  resignedly.  "  When  may  I 
expect  a  renewal  of  the  conflict?  " 

"  Would  to-morrow  be  convenient  ? "  he  asked 
quaintly. 

She  returned  his  smile.     "  Come  to  luncheon." 

"Have  I  your  permission  to  start  the  portrait?" 

"  Yes.     As  soon  as  you  like." 

He  left  her  without  feeling  that  he  had  gained  an 
inch  along  the  road  to  success.  That  night,  in  the 
gloaming  of  his  star-lit  porch,  he  smoked  many  a  pipe 
ful  and  derived  therefrom  a  profound  estimate  of  the 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

value  of  tact  and  discretion  as  opposed  to  bold  and 
impulsive  measures  in  the  handling  of  a  determined 
woman.  He  would  make  haste  slowly,  as  the  saying 
goes.  Many  an  unexpected  victory  is  gained  by  dila 
tory  tactics,  provided  the  blow  is  struck  at  the  psycho 
logical  moment  of  least  resistance. 

The  weeks  slipped  by.  He  was  with  her  almost 
daily.  Other  people  came  to  her  house,  some  for 
rather  protracted  visits,  others  in  quest  of  pillage  at 
the  nightly  bridge  table,  but  he  was  seldom  missing. 
There  were  times  when  he  thought  he  detected  a  tend 
ency  to  waver,  but  each  cunning  attempt  on  his  part 
to  encourage  the  impulse  invariably  brought  a  certain 
mocking  light  into  her  eyes  and  he  veered  off  in  defeat. 
Something  kept  telling  him,  however,  that  the  hour 
was  bound  to  come  when  she  would  falter  in  her  resolu 
tion;  when  frankness  would  meet  frankness,  and  the 
veil  be  lifted. 

A  rather  impossible  relative  in  the  person  of  an 
aunt  came  to  spend  the  month  of  August  with  Sara  — 
her  father's  sister.  She  was  a  true,  unvarnished 
Gooch.  Booth  shuddered  at  times  when  she  emerged 
flat-foot  from  the  background  and  revelled  in  the 
Goochiness  that  would  not  stay  put,  no  matter  how 
hard  she  tried  to  subdue  it.  She  was  a  good  soul, — 
much  too  good,  in  fact, — and  her  efforts  to  live  up  to 
requirements  were  not  only  ludicrous  but  exasperating. 
Sara  was  quite  serene  about  her,  however.  She  made 
no  excuses  for  the  old  lady;  in  fact,  she  appeared  to 
be  quite  devoted  to  her.  Booth  was  beginning  to  ap 
preciate  something  of  the  horror  the  Wrandalls  must 
have  felt  when  Challis  took  unto  himself  a  Gooch.  He 
berated  himself  in  secret  for  his  snobbishness  and  in 
public  made  atonement  by  being  expansively  polite  to 


VIVIAN  AIRS  HER  OPINIONS 

Mrs.  Coburn.  The  good  lady  had  the  habit  of  telling 
every  one  what  a  wonderful  person  Sebastian  Gooch 
had  been,  sometimes  comparing  him  not  unfavourably 
with  Napoleon  Bonaparte  and  George  Washington:  he 
was  like  the  Corsican  in  getting  the  better  of  his  ad 
versaries,  no  matter  how  he  had  to  go  about  it,  but 
like  the  Father  of  his  Country  in  the  matter  of  verac 
ity.  So  far  as  she  knew,  Sebastian  had  never  told  a 
lie.  To  Mrs.  Coburn,  Sebastian  was  Saint  Sebastian. 

The  portrait  was  finished  before  Mrs.  Coburn  left. 
She  liked  everything  about  it  except  the  gown,  the 
drapery  and  —  yes,  the  hands.  They  were  too  long1 
and  tapering.  No  Gooch  ever  had  a  hand  like  that. 
The  Gooch  hands  were  broad  and  strong:  like  her 
own.  All  this,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  Sara's 
hand  lay  exposed  all  the  time  she  was  speaking,  a 
physical  contradiction  to  her  assertion. 

She  stayed  the  month  and  then  re-entered  Yonkers. 

There  were  no  letters  from  Hetty,  no  word  of  any 
description.  If  Sara  knew  anything  of  the  girl's 
movements  she  did  not  take  Booth  into  her  confidence. 

Leslie  Wrandall  went  abroad  in  August,  ostensibly 
to  attend  the  aviation  meets  in  France  and  England. 
His  mother  and  sister  sailed  in  September,  but  not 
before  the  entire  colony  of  which  they  were  a  part  had 
begun  to  discuss  Sara  and  Booth  with  a  relish  that 
was  obviously  distasteful  to  the  Wrandalls. 

Where  there  is  smoke  there  is  fire,  said  all  the  gos 
sips,  and  forthwith  proceeded  to  carry  fagots. 

A  week  or  so  before  sailing,  Mrs.  Redmond  Wrandall 
had  Booth  in  for  dinner.  I  think  she  said  en  famille. 
At  any  rate,  Sara  was  not  asked,  which  is  proof 
enough  that  she  was  bent  on  making  it  a  family  affair. 

After  dinner,  Booth  sat  in  the  screened  upper  bal- 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

cony  with  Vivian.  He  liked  her.  She  was  a  keen 
witted,  plain-spoken  young  woman,  with  few  false 
ideals  and  no  subtlety.  She  was  less  snobbish  than 
arrogant.  Of  all  the  Wrandalls,  she  was  the  least  self- 
centred.  Leslie  never  quite  understood  her  for  the 
paradoxical  reason  that  she  thoroughly  understood 
him. 

"  You  know,  Brandon,"  she  said,  after  a  long  silence 
between  them,  "  they've  been  setting  my  cap  for  you 
for  a  long,  long  time."  She  blew  a  thin  stream  of 
cigarette  smoke  toward  the  moon. 

He  started.  It  was  a  bolt  from  a  clear  sky.  "  The 
deuce ! " 

"  Yes,"  she  went  on  in  the  most  casual  tone,  "  moth 
er's  had  her  heart  set  on  it  for  months.  You  were 
supposed  to  be  mine  at  first  sight,  I  believe.  Please 
don't  look  so  uneasy.  I'm  not  going  to  propose  to 
you."  She  laughed  her  little  ironic  laugh. 

"So  that  is  the  way  things  stood,  eh?"  he  said, 
still  a  little  amazed  by  her  candour. 

"  Yes.  And  what  is  more  to  the  point,  I  am  quite 
sure  I  should  have  said  yes  if  you  had  asked  me. 
Sounds  odd,  doesn't  it?  Rather  amusing,  too,  being 
able  to  discuss  it  so  unreservedly,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Good  heavens,  Viv !  "  he  cried  uncomfortably.  "  I 
—  I  had  no  idea  you  cared  — " 

"  Cared ! "  she  cried,  as  he  paused.  "  I  don't  care 
two  pins  for  you  in  that  way.  But  I  would  have  mar 
ried  you,  just  the  same,  because  you  are  worth  marry 
ing.  I'd  very  much  rather  have  you  for  a  husband 
than  any  man  I  know,  but  as  for  loving  you !  Pooh ! 
I'd  love  you  in  just  the  way  mother  loves  father,  and 
I  wouldn't  have  been  a  bit  more  trouble  to  you  than 
she  is  to  him." 


VIVIAN  AIRS  HER  OPINIONS  325 

"  'Gad,  you  don't  mind  what  you  say ! " 

"  Failing  to  nab  you,  Brandy,  I  dare  say  I'll  have  to 
come  down  to  a  duke  or,  who  knows?  maybe  a  mere 
prince.  It  isn't  very  enterprising,  is  it?  And  cer 
tainly  it  isn't  a  gay  prospect.  Really,  I  had  hoped 
you  would  have  me.  1  flatter  myself,  I  suppose,  but, 
honestly  now,  we  would  have  made  a  rather  nice  look 
ing  couple,  wouldn't  we?  " 

"  You  flatter  me,"  he  said. 

"  But,"  she  resumed,  calmly  exhaling,  "  you  very 
foolishly  fell  in  love  with  some  one  else,  and  it  wasn't 
necessary  for  me  to  pretend  that  I  was  in  love  with 
you  —  which  I  should  have  done,  believe  me,  if  you 
had  given  me  the  chance.  You  fell  in  love,  first  with 
Hetty  Castleton." 

"  First  ?  "  he  cried,  frowning. 

"  And  now  you  are  heels  over  head  in  love  with  my 
beautiful  sister-in-law.  Which  all  goes  to  prove  that 
I  would  have  made  just  the  kind  of  wife  you  need, 
considering  your  tendency  to  fluctuate.  But  how 
dreadful  it  would  have  been  for  a  sentimental,  loving 
girl  like  Hetty !  " 

He  sat  bolt  upright  and  stared  hard  at  her. 

"  See  here,  Viv,  what  the  dickens  are  you  driving 
at?  I'm  not  in  love  with  Sara  —  not  in  the  least, — 
and  — "  He  checked  himself  sharply.  "  What  an  ass 
I  am!  You're  guying  me." 

"  In  any  event,  I  am  right  about  Hetty,"  she  said, 
leaning  forward,  her  manner  quite  serious. 

"  If  it  will  ease  your  mind,"  he  said  stiffly,  "  I  plead 
guilty  with  all  my  heart." 

She  favoured  him  with  a  slight  frown  of  annoyance. 

"  And  you  deny  the  fluctuating  charge?  " 

"  Most  positively.     I  can  afford  to  be  honest  with 


326          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

you,  Viv.  You  are  a  corker.  I  love  Hetty  Castleton 
with  all  my  soul." 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair.  "  Then  why  don't 
you  dignify  your  soul  by  being  honest  with  her?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

For  a  half-minute  she  was  silent.  "  Are  you  and 
I  of  the  same  stripe,  after  all?  Would  you  marry 
Sara  without  loving  her,  as  I  would  have  done  by 
you?  It  doesn't  seem  like  you,  Brandon." 

"  Good  heaven,  I'm  not  going  to  marry  Sara ! " 
he  blurted  out.  "  It's  never  entered  my  head." 

"  Perhaps  it  has  entered  hers." 

"  Nonsense !  She  isn't  going  to  marry  anybody. 
And  she  knows  how  I  feel  toward  Hetty.  If  it  came 
to  the  point  where  I  decided  to  marry  without  love, 
'pon  my  soul,  Viv,  I  believe  I'd  pick  you  out  as  the 
victim." 

"  Wonderful  combination !  "  she  said  with  a  frank 
laugh.  "  The  quintessence  of  '  no  love  lost.'  But  to 
resume !  Do  you  know  that  people  are  saying  you 
are  to  be  married  before  the  winter  is  over?  " 

"  Let  'em  say  it,"  he  said  gruffly. 

"  Oh,  well,"  she  said,  despatching  it  all  with  a  ges 
ture,  "  if  that's  the  way  you  feel  about  it,  there's  no 
more  to  be  said." 

He  was  ashamed.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  shouldn't 
have  said  that." 

"  You  see,"  she  went  on,  reverting  to  the  original 
topic,  "  people  who  know  Sara  are  likely  to  credit 
lier  with  motives  you  appear  to  be  totally  ignorant 
of.  She  set  her  heart  on  my  brother  Challis,  when 
she  was  a  great  deal  younger  than  she  is  now,  and  she 
got  him.  If  age  and  experience  count  for  anything, 
how  capable  she  must  be  by  this  time." 


VIVIAN  AIRS  HER  OPINIONS  327 

He  was  too  wise  to  venture  an  opinion.  "  I  assure 
you  she  has  no  designs  on  me." 

"  Perhaps  not.  But  I  fancy  that  even  you  could 
not  escape  as  St.  Anthony  did.  She  is  most  alluring." 

"  You  don't  like  her." 

"  Obviously.  And  yet  I  don't  dislike  her.  She  has 
the  virtue  of  consistency,  if  one  may  use  the  expres 
sion.  She  loved  my  brother.  Leslie  says  she  should 
have  hated  him.  We  have  tried  to  like  her.  I  think 
I  have  come  nearer  to  it  than  any  of  the  others,  not 
excepting  Leslie,  who  has  always  been  her  champion. 
I  suppose  you  know  that  he  was  your  rival  at  one 
time." 

"  He  mentioned  it,"  said  Booth  drily. 

"  I  should  have  been  very  much  disappointed  in  her 
if  she  had  accepted  him." 

"Indeed?" 

"  I  sometimes  wonder  if  Sara  spiked  Leslie's  guns 
for  him." 

"  I  can  tell  you  something  you  don't  know,  Vivian," 
said  he.  "  Sara  was  rather  keen  about  making  a  match 
there." 

Vivian's  smile  was  slow  but  triumphant.  "  That  is 
just  what  I  thought.  There  you  are!  Doesn't  that 
explain  Sara?  " 

"  In  a  measure,  yes.  But,  you  see,  it  developed 
that  Hetty  cared  for  some  one  else,  and  that  put  a 
stop  to  everything." 

"  Am  I  to  take  it  that  you  are  the  some  one  else?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  he  soberly. 

"  Then,  may  I  ask  why  she  went  away  so  suddenly?  " 

"  You  may  ask  but  I  can't  answer." 

"  Do  you  want  my  opinion?  She  went  away  because 
Sara,  failing  in  her  plan  to  marry  her  off  to  Leslie, 


328 

decided  that  it  would  be  fatal  to  a  certain  project  of 
her  own  if  she  remained  on  the  field  of  action.  Do 
I  make  myself  clear  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  are  away  off  in  your  conclusions,  Viv." 

"  Time   will   tell,"   was   her   cabalistic  rejoinder. 

Her  father  appeared  on  the  lawn  below  and  called 
up  to  them. 

"  You  are  wanted  at  the  telephone,  Brandon.  I've 
just  been  talking  to  Sara." 

"Did  she  call  you  up,  father?"  asked  Vivian,  lean 
ing  over  the  rail. 

"  Yes.     About  nothing  in  particular,  however." 

She  turned  upon  Booth  with  a  mocking  smile.  He 
felt  the  colour  rush  to  his  face,  and  was  angry  with 
himself. 

He  went  in  to  the  telephone.  Almost  her  first  words 
were  these: 

"  What  has  Vivian  been  telling  you  about  me,  Bran 
don?" 

He  actually  gasped.     "  Good  heavens,  Sara !  " 

He  heard  her  low  laugh.  "  So  she  has  been  saying 
things,  has  she?"  she  asked.  "I  thought  so.  I've 
had  it  in  my  bones  to-night." 

He  was  at  a  loss  for  words.  It  was  positively  un 
canny.  As  he  stood  there,  trying  to  think  of  a  trivial 
remark,  her  laugh  came  to  him  again  over  the  wire, 
followed  by  a  drawling  "  good-night,"  and  then  the 
soughing  of  the  wind  over  the  "  open  "  wire. 

The  next  day  he  called  her  up  on  the  telephone  quite 
early.  He  knew  her  habits.  She  would  be  abroad  in 
her  gardens  by  eight  o'clock.  He  remembered  well  that 
Leslie,  in  commenting  on  her  absurdly  early  hours,  had 
once  said  that  her  "  early  bird  "  habit  was  hereditary : 
she  got  it  from  Sebastian. 


VIVIAN  AIRS  HER  OPINIONS  329 

"  What  put  it  into  your  head,  Sara,  that  Vivian 
was  saying  anything  unpleasant  about  you  last  night?  " 

"  Magic,"  she  replied  succinctly. 

"  Rubbish ! " 

"  I  have  a  magic  tapestry  that  transports  me,  hither 
and  thither,  and  by  night  I  always  carry  Aladdin's 
lamp.  So,  you  see,  I  see  and  hear  everything." 

"Be  sensible." 

"  Very  well.  I  will  be  sensible.  If  you  intend  to 
be  influenced  by  what  Vivian  or  her  mother  said  to 
you  last  night,  I  think  you'd  be  wise  to  avoid  me  from 
this  time  on." 

Prepared  though  he  was,  he  blinked  his  eyes  and 
said  something  she  didn't  quite  catch. 

She  went  on :  "  Moreover,  in  addition  to  my  attain 
ments  in  the  black  art,  I  am  quite  as  clever  as  Mr. 
Sherlock  Holmes  in  some  respects.  I  really  do  some 
splendid  deducing.  In  the  first  place,  you  were  asked 
there  and  I  was  not.  Why?  Because  I  was  to  be  dis 
cussed.  You  see — " 

"  Marvellous !  "  he  interrupted  loudly. 

"  You  were  to  be  told  that  I  have  cruel  designs 
upon  you." 

"  Go  on,  please." 

"  And  all  that  sort  of  thing,"  she  said  sweepingly, 
and  he  could  almost  see  the  inclusive  gesture  with  her 
free  hand.  He  laughed  but  still  marvelled  at  the 
shrewdness  of  her  perceptions. 

"  I'll  come  over  this  afternoon  and  show  you  wherein 
you  are  wrong,"  he  began,  but  she  interrupted  him 
with  a  laugh. 

"  I  am  starting  for  the  city  before  noon,  by  motor, 
to  be  gone  at  least  a  fortnight." 

"  What !     This  is  the  first  I've  heard  of  it." 


330          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

Again  she  laughed.  "  To  be  perfectly  frank  with 
you,  I  hadn't  heard  of  it  myself  until  just  now.  I 
think  I  shall  go  down  to  the  Homestead  with  the  Car- 
rolls." 

"Hot  Springs?" 

"  Virginia,"  she  added  explicitly. 

"I  say,  Sara,  what  does  all  this  mean?     You — " 

"  And  if  you  should  follow  me  there,  Vivian's  esti 
mate  of  us  will  not  be  so  far  out  of  the  way  as  we'd 
like  to  make  it." 

True  to  her  word,  she  was  gone  when  he  drove  over 
later  on  in  the  day.  Somehow,  he  experienced  a  queer 
feeling  of  relief.  Not  that  he  was  oppressed  by  the 
rather  vivacious  opinions  of  Vivian  and  her  ilk,  but 
because  something  told  him  that  Sara  was  wavering  in 
her  determination  to  withhold  the  secret  from  him  and 
fled  for  perfectly  obvious  reasons. 

He  had  two  commissions  among  the  rich  summer 
colonists.  One,  a  full  length  portrait  of  young 
Beardsley  in  shooting  togs,  was  nearly  finished.  The 
other  was  to  be  a  half-length  of  Mrs.  Ravenscroft, 
who  wanted  one  just  like  Hetty  Castleton's,  except 
for  the  eyes,  which  she  admitted  would  have  to  be 
different.  Nothing  was  said  of  the  seventeen  years' 
difference  in  their  ages.  Vivian  had  put  off  posing 
until  Lent. 

The  Wrandalls  departed  for  Scotland,  and  other 
friends  of  his  began  to  desert  the  country  for  the  city. 
The  fortnight  passed  and  another  week  besides.  Mrs. 
Ravenscroft  decided  to  go  to  Europe  when  the  picture 
was  half-finished. 

"  You  can  finish  it  when  I  come  back  in  December, 
Mr.  Booth,"  she  said.  "  I'll  have  several  new  gowns 
to  choose  from,  too." 


VIVIAN  AIRS  HER  OPINIONS  331 

"  I  shall  be  busy  all  winter,  Mrs.  Ravenscroft,"  he 
said  coldly. 

"  How  annoying,"  she  said  calmly,  and  that  was  the 
end  of  it  all.  She  had  made  the  unpleasant  discovery 
that  it  wasn't  going  to  be  in  the  least  like  Hetty  Cas- 
tleton's,  so  why  bother  about  it? 

Booth  waited  until  Sara  came  out  to  superintend 
the  closing  of  her  house  for  the  winter.  He  called 
at  Southlook  on  the  day  of  her  arrival.  He  was  struck 
at  once  by  the  curious  change  in  her  appearance  and 
manner.  There  was  something  bleak  and  desolate  in 
the  vividly  brilliant  face:  the  tired,  wistful,  harassed 
look  of  one  who  has  begun  to  quail  and  yet  fights  on. 

"  Will  you  go  out  with  me  to-morrow,  Brandon,  for 
an  all-day  trip  in  the  car  ?  "  she  asked,  as  they  stood 
together  before  the  open  fireplace  on  this  late  Novem 
ber  afternoon.  Her  eyes  were  moody,  her  voice  rather 
lifeless. 

"  Certainly,"  he  said,  watching  her  closely.  Was 
the  break  about  to  come? 

"  I  will  stop  for  you  at  nine."  After  a  short  pause, 
she  looked  up  and  said :  "  I  suppose  you  would  like  to 
know  where  I  am  taking  you." 

"  It  doesn't  matter,  Sara." 

"  I  want  you  to  go  with  me  to  Burton's  Inn." 

"Burton's  Inn?" 

"  That  is  the  place  where  my  hus'band  was  killed," 
she  said,  quite  steadily. 

He  started.  "  Oh !  But  —  do  you  think  it  best, 
Sara,  to  open  old  wounds  by  — " 

"  I  have  thought  it  all  out,  Brandon.  I  want  to 
go  there  —  just  once.  I  want  to  go  into  that  room 
again." 


CHAPTER    XX 

ONCE   MOEE  AT   BURTON'S   INN 

AGAIN  Sara  Wrandall  found  herself  in  that  never-to- 
be-forgotten  room  at  Burton's  Inn.  On  that  grim 
night  in  March,  she  had  entered  without  fear  or  trem 
bling  because  she  knew  what  was  there.  Now  she 
quaked  with  a  mighty  chill  of  terror,  for  she  knew  not 
what  was  there  in  the  quiet,  now  sequestered  room. 
Burton  had  told  them  on  their  arrival  after  a  long 
drive  across  country  that  patrons  of  the  inn  invari 
ably  asked  which  room  it  was  that  had  been  the  scene 
of  the  tragedy,  and,  on  finding  out,  refused  point- 
blank  to  occupy  it.  In  consequence,  he  had  been 
obliged  to  transform  it  into  a  sort  of  store  and  bag 
gage  room. 

Sara  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  murky  room,  for 
the  shutters  had  long  been  closed  to  the  light  of  day, 
and  looked  about  her  in  awe  at  the  heterogeneous  mass 
of  boxes,  trunks,  bundles  and  rubbish,  scattered  over 
the  floor  without  care  or  system.  She  had  closed  the 
door  behind  her  and  was  quite  alone.  Light  sneaked 
in  through  the  cracks  in  the  shutters,  but  so  meagrely 
that  it  only  served  to  increase  the  gloom.  A  disman 
tled  bedstead  stood  heaped  up  in  the  corner.  She  did 
not  have  to  be  told  what  bed  it  was.  The  mattress 
was  there  too,  rolled  up  and  tied  with  a  thick  garden 
rope.  She  knew  there  were  dull,  ugly  blood-stains 
upon  it.  Why  the  thrifty  Burton  had  persevered  in 
keeping  this  useless  article  of  furniture,  she  could  only 
surmise.  Perhaps  it  was  held  as  an  inducement  to  the 

332 


ONCE  MORE  AT  BURTON'S  INN        333 

morbidly  curious  who  always  seek  out  the  gruesome 
and  gloat  even  as  they  shudder. 

For  a  long  time  she  stood  immovable  just  inside 
the  door,  recalling  the  horrid  picture  of  another  day. 
She  tried  to  imagine  the  scene  that  had  been  enacted 
there  with  gentle,  lovable  Hetty  Glynn  and  her  whilom 
husband  as  the  principal  characters.  The  girl  had 
told  the  whole  story  of  that  ugly  night.  Sara  tried 
to  see  it  as  it  actually  had  transpired.  For  months 
this  present  enterprise  had  been  in  her  mind:  the  desire 
to  see  the  place  again,  to  go  there  with  old  impressions 
which  she  could  leave  behind  Avhen  ready  to  emerge  in 
a  new  frame  of  mind.  It  was  here  that  she  meant  to 
shake  off  the  shackles  of  a  horrid  dream,  to  purge  her 
self  of  the  last  vestige  of  bitterness,  to  cleanse  her 
mind  of  certain  thoughts  and  memories. 

Downstairs  Booth  waited  for  her.  He  heard  the 
story  of  the  tragedy  from  the  surly  inn-keeper,  who 
crossly  maintained  that  his  business  had  been  ruined. 
Booth  was  vaguely  impressed,  he  knew  not  why,  by 
Burton's  description  of  the  missing  woman.  "  I'd  say 
she  was  about  the  size  of  Mrs.  Wrandall  herself,  and 
much  the  same  figger,"  he  said,  as  he  had  said  a  thou 
sand  times  before.  "My  wife  noticed  it  the  minute 
she  saw  Mrs.  Wrandall.  Same  height  and  every 
thing." 

A  bell  rang  sharply  and  Burton  glanced  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  indicator  on  the  wall  behind  the  desk. 
He  gave  a  great  start  and  his  jaw  sagged. 

"  Great  Scott ! "  he  gasped.  A  curious  greyness 
stole  over  his  face.  "  It's  —  it's  the  bell  in  that  very 
room.  My  soul,  what  can  — " 

"Mrs.  Wrandall  is  up  there,  isn't  she?"  demanded 
Booth. 


334          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  It  ain't  rung  since  the  night  he  pushed  the  button 
for  —  Oh,  gee !  You're  right.  She  is  up  there.  My, 
what  a  scare  it  gave  me."  He  wiped  his  brow.  Turn 
ing  to  a  boy,  he  commanded  him  to  answer  the  bell. 
The  boy  went  slowly,  and  as  he  went  he  removed  his 
hands  from  his  pockets.  He  came  back  an  instant 
later,  more  swiftly  than  he  went,  with  the  word  that 
"  the  lady  up  there  "  wanted  Mr.  Booth  to  come  up 
stairs. 

She  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  open  doorway.  A 
shaft  of  bright  sunlight  from  a  window  at  the  end  of 
the  hall  fell  upon  her.  Her  face  was  colourless,  hag 
gard.  He  paused  for  an  instant  to  contrast  her  as 
she  stood  there  in  the  pitiless  light  with  the  vivid  crea 
ture  he  had  put  upon  canvas  so  recently. 

She  beckoned  to  him  and  turned  back  into  the  room. 
He  followed. 

"  This  is  the  room,  Brandon,  where  my  husband 
met  the  death  he  deserved,"  she  said  quietly. 

"Deserved?     Good  heavens,  Sara,  are  you — " 

"  I  want  you  to  look  about  you  and  try  to  picture 
how  this  place  looked  on  the  night  of  the  murder. 
You  have  a  vivid  imagination.  None  of  this  rubbish 
was  here.  Just  a  bed,  a  table  and  two  chairs.  There 
was  a  carpet  on  the  floor.  There  were  two  people 
here,  a  man  and  a  woman.  The  woman  had  trusted 
the  man.  She  trusted  him  until  the  hour  in  which 
he  died.  Then  she  found  him  out.  She  had  come  to 
this  place,  believing  it  was  to  be  her  wedding  night. 
She  found  no  minister  here.  The  man  laughed  at  her 
and  scoffed.  Then  she  knew.  In  horror,  shame,  des 
peration  she  tried  to  break  away  from  him.  He  was 
strong.  She  was  a  good  woman;  a  virtuous,  honour 
able  woman.  She  saved  herself." 


ONCE  MORE  AT  BURTON'S  INN        335 

He  was  staring  at  her  with  dilated  eyes.  Slowly 
the  truth  was  being  borne  in  upon  him. 

"The  woman  was  —  Hetty?"  came  hoarsely  from 
his  stiffening  lips.  "  My  God,  Sara !  " 

She  came  close  to  him  and  spoke  in  a  half-whisper. 
"Now  you  know  the  secret.  Is  it  safe  with  you?" 

He  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  but  no  words  came 
forth.  Paralysis  seemed  to  have  gripped  not  only  his 
throat  but  his  senses.  He  reeled.  She  grasped  his 
arm  in  a  tense,  fierce  way,  and  whispered: 

"  Be  careful !  No  one  must  hear  what  we  are  say 
ing."  She  shot  a  glance  down  the  deserted  hall.  "  No 
one  is  near.  I  made  sure  of  that.  Don't  speak ! 
Think  first  —  think  well,  Brandon  Booth.  It  is  what 
you  have  been  seeking  for  months:  —  the  truth.  You 
share  the  secret  with  us  now.  Again  I  ask,  is  it  safe 
with  you?  " 

"  My  God !  "  he  muttered  again,  and  passed  his  hand 
over  his  eyes.  His  brow  was  wet.  He  looked  at  his 
fingers  dumbly  as  if  expecting  to  find  them  covered 
with  blood. 

"  Is  it  safe  with  you  ?  "  for  the  third  time. 

"Safe?  Safe?"  he  whispered,  following  her  exam 
ple  without  knowing  that  he  did  so.  "I  —  I  can't 
believe  you,  Sara.  It  can't  be  true." 

"  It  is  true." 

"  You  have  known  —  all  the  time  ?  " 

"  From  that  night  when  I  stood  where  we  are  stand 
ing  now." 

"  And  —  and  —  she?  " 

"  I  had  never  seen  her  until  that  night.  I  saved 
her." 

He  dropped  suddenly  upon  the  trunk  that  stood 
behind  him,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  For  a 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

long  time  she  stood  over  him,  her  interest  divided  be 
tween  him  and  the  hall,  wherein  lay  their  present  peril. 

"Come,"  she  said  at  last.  "Pull  yourself  to 
gether.  We  must  leave  this  place.  If  you  are  not 
careful,  they  will  suspect  something  downstairs." 

He  looked  up  with  haggard  eyes,  studying  her  face 
with  curious  intentness. 

"  What  manner  of  woman  are  you,  Sara  ?  "  he  ques 
tioned,  slowly,  wonderingly. 

"I  have  just  discovered  that  I  am  very  much  like 
other  women,  after  all,"  she  said.  "  For  awhile  I 
thought  I  was  different,  that  I  was  stronger  than  my 
sex.  But  I  am  just  as  weak,  just  as  much  to  be 
pitied,  just  as  much  to  be  scorned  as  any  one  of  my 
sisters.  I  have  spoiled  a  great  act  by  stooping  to  do 
a  mean  one.  God  will  bear  witness  that  my  thoughts 
were  noble  at  the  outset ;  my  heart  was  soft.  But, 
come!  There  is  much  more  to  tell  that  cannot  be  told 
here.  You  shall  know  everything." 

They  went  downstairs  and  out  into  the  crisp  autumn 
air.  She  gave  directions  to  her  chauffeur.  They  were 
to  traverse  for  some  distance  the  same  road  she  had 
taken  on  that  ill-fated  night  a  year  and  a  half  before. 
In  course  of  time  the  motor  approached  a  well-remem 
bered  railway  crossing. 

"  Slow  down,  Cole,"  she  said.  "  This  is  a  mean 
place  —  a  very  mean  place."  Turning  to  Booth,  who 
had  been  sitting  grim  and  silent  beside  her  for  miles, 
she  said,  lowering  her  voice :  "  I  remember  that  cross 
ing  yonder.  There  is  a  sharp  curve  beyond.  This 
is  the  place.  Midway  between  the  two  crossings,  I 
should  say.  Please  remember  this  part  of  the  road, 
Brandon,  wThen  I  come  to  the  telling  of  that  night's 
ride  to  town.  Try  to  picture  this  spot  —  this  smooth, 


For  a  long  time  she  stood  over  him,  her  interest  divided 
between  him  and  the  hall 


ONCE  MORE  AT  BURTON'S  INN        837 

straight  road  as  it  might  be  on  a  dark,  freezing  night 
in  the  very  thick  of  a  screaming  blizzard,  with  all  the 
world  abed  save  —  two  women." 

In  his  mind  he  began  to  draw  the  picture,  and  to 
place  the  two  women  in  the  centre  of  it,  without  know 
ing  the  circumstances.  There  was  something  fascinat 
ing  in  the  study  he  was  making,  something  gruesome 
and  full  of  sinister  possibilities  for  the  hand  of  a  virile 
painter.  He  wondered  how  near  his  imagination  was 
to  placing  the  central  figures  in  the  picture  as  they 
actually  appeared  on  that  secret  night. 

At  sunset  they  went  together  to  the  little  pavilion 
at  the  end  of  the  pier  which  extended  far  out  into 
ihe  Sound.  Here  they  were  safe  from  the  ears  of 
eavesdroppers.  The  boats  had  been  stowed  away  for 
the  winter.  The  wind  that  blew  through  the  open 
pavilion,  now  shorn  of  all  its  comforts  and  luxuries, 
was  cold,  raw  and  repelling.  No  one  would  disturb 
them  here. 

With  her  face  set  toward  the  sinking  east,  she  leaned 
against  one  of  the  thick  posts,  and,  in  a  dull,  emotion 
less  voice,  laid  bare  the  whole  story  of  that  dreadful 
night  and  the  days  that  followed.  She  spared  no  de 
tails,  she  spared  not  herself  in  the  narration. 

He  did  not  once  interrupt  her.  All  the  time  she 
was  speaking  he  was  studying  the  profile  of  her  face 
as  if  fascinated  by  its  strange  immobility.  For  the 
matter  of  a  full  half-hour  he  sat  on  the  rail,  his  back 
against  a  post,  his  arms  folded  across  the  breast  of 
the  thick  ulster  he  wore,  staring  at  her,  drinking  in 
every  word  of  the  story  she  told.  A  look  of  surprise 
crept  into  his  face  when  she  came  to  the  point  where 
the  thought  of  marrying  Hetty  to  the  brother  of 


338          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

her  victim  first  began  to  manifest  itself  in  her  designs. 
For  a  time  the  look  of  incredulity  remained,  to  be  suc 
ceeded  by  utter  scorn  as  she  went  on  with  the  recital. 
Her  reasons,  her  excuses,  her  explanations  for  this 
master-stroke  in  the  way  of  compensation  for  all  that 
she  had  endured  at  the  hands  of  the  scornful  Wran- 
dalls,  all  of  whom  were  hateful  to  her  without  excep 
tion,  stirred  him  deeply.  He  began  to  understand  the 
forces  that  compelled  her  to  resort  to  this  Machiavel 
lian  plan  for  revenge  on  them.  She  admitted  every 
thing:  her  readiness  to  blight  Hetty's  life  for  ever;  her 
utter  callousness  in  laying  down  these  ugly  plans ;  her 
surpassing  vindictiveness ;  her  reflections  on  the  triumph 
she  was  to  enjoy  when  her  aims  were  fully  attained. 
She  confessed  to  a  genuine  pity  for  Hetty  Castleton 
from  the  beginning,  but  it  was  outweighed  by  that 
thing  she  could  only  describe  as  an  obsession ! 
How  she  hated  the  Wrandalls !  Then  came 

the  real  awakening:  when  the  truth  came  to  her  as  a 
revelation  from  God.  Hetty  had  not  been  to  blame. 
The  girl  was  innocent  of  the  one  sin  that  called  for 
vengeance  so  far  as  she  was  concerned.  The  slaying 
of  Challis  Wrandall  was  justified!  All  these  months 
she  had  been  harbouring  a  woman  she  believed  to  have 
been  his  mistress  as  well  as  his  murderess.  It  was  not 
so  much  the  murderess  that  she  would  have  foisted 
upon  the  Wrandalls  as  a  daughter,  but  the  mis 
tress  !  She  loved  the  girl,  she  had  loved  her 
from  that  first  night.  Back  of  it  all,  therefore,  lay 
the  stern,  unsuspected  truth:  from  the  very  beginning 
she  instinctively  had  known  this  girl  to  be  innocent  of 
guile.  .  .  .  Her  house  of  cards  fell  down.  There 
was  nothing  left  of  the  plans  on  which  it  had  been 
constructed.  It  had  all  been  swept  away,  even  as  she 


ONCE  MORE  AT  BURTON'S  INN        339 

strove  to  protect  it  against  destruction,  and  the 
ground  was  strewn  with  the  ashes  of  fires  burnt 
out.  .  .  .  She  was  shocked  to  find  that  she  had 
even  built  upon  the  evil  spot !  Almost  word 

for  word  she  repeated  Hetty's  own  story  of  her  meet 
ing  with  Challis  Wrandall,  and  how  she  went,  step 
by  step  and  blindly,  to  the  last  scene  in  the  tragedy, 
when  his  vileness,  his  true  nature  was  revealed  to  her. 
The  girl  had  told  her  everything.  She  had  thought 
herself  to  be  in  love  with  Wrandall.  She  was  carried 
away  by  his  protestations.  She  was  infatuated. 
(Sara  smiled  to  herself  as  she  spoke  of  this.  She 
knew  Challis  WrandalPs  charm !)  The  girl  believed 
in  him  implicitly.  When  he  took  her  to  Burton's  Inn 
it  was  to  make  her  his  wife,  as  she  supposed.  He  had 
arranged  everything.  Then  came  the  truth.  She  de 
fended  herself.  .  .  . 

"  I  came  upon  her  in  the  road  on  that  wild  night, 
Brandon,  at  the  place  I  pointed  out.  Can  you  picture 
her  as  I  have  described  her?  Can  you  picture  her 
despair,  her  hopelessness,  her  misery?  I  have  told  you 
everything,  from  beginning  to  end.  You  know  how 
she  came  to  me,  how  I  prepared  her  for  the  sacrifice, 
how  she  left  me.  I  have  not  written  to  her.  I  can 
not.  She  must  hate  me  with  all  her  soul,  just  as  I 
have  hated  the  Wrandalls,  but  with  greater  reason,  I 
confess.  She  would  have  given  herself  up  to  the  law 
long  ago,  if  it  had  not  been  for  exposing  me  to  the 
world  as  her  defender,  her  protector.  She  knew  she 
was  not  morally  guilty  of  the  crime  of  murder.  In 
the  beginning  she  was  afraid.  She  did  not  know  our 
land,  our  laws.  In  time  she  came  to  understand  that 
she  was  in  no  real  peril,  but  then  it  was  too  late.  A 
confession  would  have  placed  me  in  an  impossible  po- 


340          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

sition.  You  see,  she  thought  of  me  all  this  time.  She 
loved  me  as  no  woman  ever  loved  another.  Was  not  I 
the  wife  of  the  man  she  had  killed,  and  was  not  I  the 
noblest  of  all  women  in  her  eyes  ?  God !  And  to  think 
of  what  I  had  planned  for  her !  " 

This  was  the  end  of  the  story. 

The  words  died  away  in  a  sort  of  whimpering  wail, 
falling  in  with  the  wind  to  be  lost  to  his  straining  ears. 
Her  head  drooped,  her  arms  hung  limply  at  her 
side. 

For  a  long  time  he  sat  there  in  silence,  looking  out 
over  the  darkening  water,  unwilling,  unable  indeed,  to 
speak.  His  heart  was  full  of  compassion  for  her, 
mingling  strangely  with  what  was  left  of  scorn  and 
horror.  What  could  he  say  to  her? 

At  last  she  turned  to  him.  "  Now  you  know  all  that 
I  can  tell  you  of  Hetty  Castleton, —  of  Hetty  Glynn. 
You  could  not  have  forced  this  from  me,  Brandon. 
She  would  not  tell  you.  It  was  left  for  me  to  do  in 
my  own  good  time.  Well,  I  have  spoken.  What  have 
you  to  say  ?  " 

"  I  can  only  say,  Sara,  that  I  thank  God  for  every 
thing"  he  said  slowly. 

"For  everything?" 

"  I  thank  God  for  you,  for  her  and  for  everything. 
I  thank  God  that  she  found  him  out  in  time,  that  she 
killed  him,  that  you  shielded  her,  that  you  failed  to 
carry  out  your  devilish  scheme,  and  that  your  heart 
is  very  sore  to-day." 

"  You  do  not  despise  me?  " 

"  No.     I  am  sorry  for  you." 

Her  eyes  narrowed.  "  I  don't  want  you  to  feel 
sorry  for  me." 

"  You   don't   understand.     I   am   sorry   for  you  be- 


cause  you  have  found  yourself  out  and  must  be  despis 
ing  yourself." 

"  You  have  guessed  the  truth.  I  despise  myself. 
But  what  could  be  expected  of  me  ?  "  she  asked  iron 
ically.  "  As  the  Wrandalls  would  say,  '  blood  will 
tell.'  " 

"  Nonsense !  Don't  talk  like  that !  It  is  quite  un 
worthy  of  you.  In  spite  of  everything,  Sara,  you  are 
wonderful.  The  very  thing  you  tried  to  do,  the  way 
you  went  about  it,  the  way  you  surrender,  makes  for 
greatness  in  you.  If  you  had  gone  on  with  it  and  suc 
ceeded,  that  fact  alone  would  have  put  you  in  the  class 
with  the  great,  strong,  virile  women  of  history.  It  — " 

"  With  the  Medicis,  the  Borgias  and  — "  she  began 
bitterly. 

"  Yes,  with  them.  But  they  were  great  women,  just 
the  same.  You  are  greater,  for  you  have  more  than 
they  possessed:  a  conscience.  I  wish  I  could  tell  you 
just  what  I  feel.  I  haven't  the  words.  I — ' 

"  I  only  want  you  to  tell  me  the  truth.  Do  you 
despise  me?  " 

"  Again  I  say  that  I  do  not.  I  can  only  say  that 
I  regard  you  with  —  yes,  with  awe." 

"  As  one  might  think  of  a  deadly  serpent." 

"  Hardly  that,"  he  said,  smiling  for  the  first  time. 
He  crossed  over  and  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 
"  Don't  think  too  meanly  of  yourself.  I  understand 
it  all.  You  lived  for  months  without  a  heart,  that's 
all." 

"  You  put  it  very  gently." 

"  I  think  I'm  right.  Now,  you've  got  it  back,  and 
it's  hungry  for  the  sweet,  good  things  of  life.  You 
want  to  be  happy.  You  want  to  love  again  and  to 
be  loved.  You  don't  want  to  be  pitied.  I  understand. 


342          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

It's  the  return  of  a  heart  that  went  away  long  months 
ago  and  left  an  empty  place  that  you  filled  with  gall. 
The  bitterness  is  gone.  There  is  something  sweet  in 
its  place.  Am  I  not  right?  " 

She  hesitated.  "  If  you  mean  that  I  want  to  be 
loved  by  my  enemies,  Brandon,  you  are  wrong,"  she 
said  clearly.  "  I  have  not  been  chastened  in  that  par 
ticular." 

"You  mean  the  Wrandalls?  " 

"  It  is  not  in  my  nature  to  love  my  enemies.  We 
stand  on  the  same  footing  as  before,  and  always  shall. 
They  understand  me,  I  understand  them.  I  am  glad 
that  my  project  failed,  not  for  their  sake,  but  for 
my  own." 

He  was  silent.  This  woman  was  beyond  him.  He 
could  not  understand  a  nature  like  this. 

"  You  say  nothing.  Well,  I  can't  ask  you  to  under 
stand.  We  will  not  discuss  my  enemies,  but  my  friends. 
What  do  you  intend  to  do  in  respect  to  Hetty?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  make  her  my  wife,"  he  said  levelly. 

She  turned  away.  It  was  now  quite  dark.  He  could 
not  see  the  expression  on  her  face. 

"  What  you  have  heard  does  not  weaken  your  love 
for  her?" 

"  No.     It  strengthens   it." 

"  You  know  what  she  has  done.  She  has  taken  a 
life  with  her  own  hands.  Can  you  take  her  to  your 
bosom,  can  you  make  her  the  mother  of  your  own  chil 
dren?  Remember,  there  is  blood  on  her  hands." 

"  Ah,  but  her  heart  is  clean !  " 

"  True,"  she  said  moodily,  "  her  heart  is  clean." 

"  No  cleaner  than  yours  is  now,  Sara." 

She  uttered  a  short,  mocking  laugh.  "  It  isn't 
necessary  to  say  a  thing  like  that  to  me." 


ONCE  MORE  AT  BURTON'S  INN    343 

"  I  beg  your  pardon." 

Her  manner  changed  abruptly.  She  turned  to  him, 
intense  and  serious. 

"  She  is  so  far  away,  Brandon.  On  the  other  side 
of  the  world,  and  she  is  full  of  loathing  for  me.  How 
am  I  to  regain  what  I  have  lost?  How  am  I  to  make 
her  understand?  She  went  away  with  that  last  ugly 
thought  of  me,  with  the  thought  of  me  as  I  appeared 
to  her  on  that  last,  enlightening  day.  All  these 
months  it  has  been  growing  more  horrible  to  her.  It 
has  been  beside  her  all  the  time.  All  these  months  she 
has  known  that  I  pretended  to  love  her  as  — " 

"  I  don't  believe  you  know  Hetty  as  well  as  you 
think  you  do,"  he  broke  in.  "  You  forget  that  she 
loved  you  with  all  her  soul.  You  can't  kill  love  so 
easily  as  all  that.  It  will  be  all  right,  Sara.  You 
must  write  and  ask  her  to  come  back.  It  — " 

"  Ah,  but  you  don't  know ! "  Then  she  related  the 
story  of  the  liberated  canary  bird.  "  Hetty  under 
stands.  The  cage  door  is  open.  She  may  return 
when  she  chooses,  but  —  don't  you  see  ?  —  she  must 
come  of  her  own  free  will." 

"  You  will  not  ask  her  to  come  ?  " 

"  No.  It  is  the  test.  She  will  know  that  I  have 
told  you  everything.  You  will  go  to  her.  Then  she 
may  understand.  If  she  forgives  she  will  come  back. 
There  is  nothing  else  to  say,  nothing  else  to  consider." 

"  I  shall  go  to  her  at  once,"  he  said  resolutely. 

She  gave  him  a  quick,  searching  glance. 

"  She  may  refuse  to  marry  you,  even  now,  Brandon." 

"  She  can't!  "  he  cried.  An  instant  later  his  face 
fell.  "  By  Jove,  I  —  I  suppose  the  law  will  have  to 
be  considered  now.  She  will  at  least  have  to  go 
through  the  form  of  a  trial." 


344          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

She  whirled  on  him  angrily.  "  The  law?  What  has 
the  law  to  do  with  it?  Don't  be  a  fool!" 

"  She  ought  to  be  legally  exonerated,"  he  said. 

Her  fingers  gripped  his  arm  fiercely.  "  I  want  you 
to  understand  one  thing,  Brandon.  The  story  I  have 
told  you  was  for  your  ears  alone.  The  secret  lives 
with  us  and  dies  with  us." 

He  looked  his  relief.  "  Right !  It  must  go  no  far 
ther.  It  is  not  a  matter  for  the  law  to  decide.  You 
may  trust  me." 

"  I  am  cold,"  she  said.  He  heard  her  teeth  chatter 
distinctly  as  she  pulled  the  thick  mantle  closer  about 
her  throat  and  shoulders.  "  It  is  very  raw  and  wet 
down  here.  Come !  " 

As  she  started  off  along  the  long,  narrow  pier,  he 
sprang  after  her,  grasping  her  arm.  She  leaned 
rather  heavily  against  him  for  a  few  steps  and  then 
drew  herself  up.  Her  teeth  still  chattered,  her  arm 
trembled  in  his  clasp. 

"  By  Jove,  Sara,  this  is  bad,"  he  cried,  in  distress. 
"  You're  chilled  to  the  marrow." 

"  Nerves,"  she  retorted,  and  he  somehow  felt  that 
her  lips  were  set  and  drawn. 

"  You  must  get  to  bed  right  away.  Hot  bath,  mus 
tard,  and  all  that.  I'll  not  stop  for  dinner.  Thanks 
just  the  same.  I  will  be  over  in  the  morning." 

"When  will  you  sail?"  she  asked,  after  a  moment. 

"  I  can't  go  for  ten  days,  at  least.  My  mother  goes 
into  the  hospital  next  week  for  an  operation,  as  I've 
told  you.  I  can't  leave  until  after  that's  over.  Noth 
ing  serious,  but  —  well,  I  can't  go  away.  I  shall 
write  to  Hetty  to-night,  and  cable  her  to-morrow.  By 
the  way,  I  —  I  don't  know  just  where  to  find  her.  You 
see,  we  were  not  to  write  to  each  other.  It  was  in 


ONCE  MORE  AT  BURTON'S  INN        345 

the  bargain.     I  suppose  you  don't  know  how  I  can  — " 

"  Yes,  I  can  tell  you  precisely  where  she  is.  She 
is  in  Venice,  but  leaves  there  to-morrow  for  Rome,  by 
the  Express." 

"  Then  you  have  been  hearing  from  her  ?  "  he  cried 
sharply. 

"  Not  directly.  But  I  will  say  this  much :  there 
has  not  been  a  day  since  she  landed  in  England  that 
I  have  not  received  news  of  her.  I  have  not  been  out 
of  touch  with  her,  Brandon,  not  even  for  an  hour." 

"  Good  heaven,  Sara !  You  don't  mean  to  say  you've 
had  her  shadowed  by  —  by  detectives,"  he  exclaimed, 
aghast. 

"  Her  maid  is  a  very  faithful  servant,"  was  her  am 
biguous  rejoinder. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

DISTURBING    NEWS 

HE  walked  home  swiftly  through  the  early  night,  his 
brain  seething  with  tumultuous  thoughts.  The  revela 
tions  of  the  day  were  staggering;  the  whole  universe 
seemed  to  have  turned  topsy-turvy  since  that  devas 
tating  hour  at  Burton's  Inn.  Somehow  he  was  not 
able  to  confine  his  thoughts  to  Hetty  Castleton  alone. 
She  seemed  to  sink  into  the  background,  despite  the 
absolution  he  had  been  so  ready,  so  eager  to  grant 
her  on  hearing  the  story  from  Sara's  lips.  Not  that 
his  resolve  to  search  her  out  and  claim  her  in  spite  of 
everything  was  likely  to  weaken,  but  that  the  absorb 
ing  figure  of  Sara  Wrandall  stood  out  most  clearly  in 
his  reflections. 

What  an  amazing  creature  she  was !  He  could  not 
drive  her  out  of  his  thoughts,  even  when  he  tried  to 
concentrate  them  on  the  one  person  who  was  dearest 
to  him  of  all  in  all  the  world,  his  warm-hearted,  ador 
able  Hetty.  Strange  contrasts  suggested  themselves 
to  him  as  he  strode  along,  head  bent  and  shoulders 
hunched.  He  could  not  help  contrasting  the  two 
women.  He  loved  Hetty;  he  would  always  love  her,  of 
that  he  was  positive.  She  was  Sara's  superior  in  every 
respect,  infinitely  so,  he  argued.  And  yet  there  was 
something  in  Sara  that  could  crowd  this  adored  one, 
this  perfect  one  out  of  his  thoughts  for  the  time  be 
ing.  He  found  it  difficult  to  concentrate  his  thoughts 
on  Hetty  Castleton. 

How  white  and  ill  Sara  had  looked  when  she  said 
good-night  to  him  at  the  door!  The  memory  of  her 

346 


DISTURBING  NEWS  347 

dark,  mysterious  eyes  haunted  him ;  he  could  see  them 
in  the  night  about  him.  They  had  been  full  of  pain; 
;there  were  torrents  of  tears  behind  them.  They  had 
glistened  as  if  burnished  by  the  fires  of  fever. 

Even  as  he  wrote  his  long,  triumphant  letter  to 
Hetty  Castleton,  the  picture  of  Sara  Wrandall  en 
croached  upon  his  mental  vision.  He  could  not  drive 
it  out.  He  thought  of  her  as  she  had  appeared  to 
him  early  in  the  spring ;  through  all  the  varying  stages 
of  their  growing  intimacy ;  through  the  interesting 
days  when  he  vainly  tried  to  translate  her  matchless^ 
beauty  by  means  of  wretched  pigments ;  up  to  this 
present  hour  in  which  she  was  revealed,  and  yet  not 
revealed,  to  him.  Her  vivid  face  was  always  before 
him,  between  his  eyes  and  the  thin  white  paper  on 
which  he  scribbled  so  eagerly.  Her  feverish  eyes  were 
looking  into  his ;  she  was  reading  what  he  wrote  before 
it  appeared  on  the  surface  of  the  sheet ! 

His  letter  to  Hetty  was  a  triumph  of  skill  and  di 
plomacy,  achieved  after  many  attempts.  He  found  it 
hard  not  to  say  too  much,  and  quite  as  difficult"  not 
to  say  too  little.  He  spent  hours  over  this  all-im 
portant  missive.  At  last  it  was  finished.  He  read 
and  re-read  it,  searching  for  the  slightest  flaw:  a  fatal 
word  or  suggestion  that  might  create  in  her  mind  the 
slightest  doubt  as  to  his  sincerity.  She  was  sure  to 
read  this  letter  a  great  many  times,  and  always  with 
the  view  to  finding  something  between  the  lines :  such 
as  pity,  resignation,  an  enforced  conception  of  loyalty, 
or  even  faith!  He  meant  that  she  should  find  nothing 
there  but  love.  It  was  full  of  tenderness,  full  of  hope, 
full  of  promise.  He  was  coming  to  her  with  a  stead 
fast,  enduring  love  in  his  heart,  he  wanted  her  now 
more  than  ever  before. 


348          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

There  was  no  mention  of  Challis  Wrandall,  and  but 
once  was  Sara's  name  used.  There  was  nothing  in 
the  letter  that  could  have  betrayed  their  joint  secret 
to  the  most  acute  outsider,  and  yet  she  would  under 
stand  that  he  had  wrung  everything  from  Sara's  lips. 
Her  secret  was  his. 

He  decided  that  it  would  not  be  safe  to  anticipate 
the  letter  by  a  cablegram.  It  was  not  likely  that  any 
message  he  could  send  would  have  the  desired  effect. 
Instead  of  reassuring  her,  in  all  probability  it  would 
create  fresh  alarm. 

Sleep  did  not  come  to  him  until  after  three  o'clock. 
At  two  he  got  up  and  deliberately  added  a  postscript 
to  the  letter  he  had  written.  It  was  in  the  nature  of 
a  poignant  plea  for  Sara  Wrandall.  Even  as  he 
penned  the  lines,  he  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  what 
she  had  planned  to  do  to  Hetty  Castleton.  Staring 
hard  at  the  black  window  before  him,  the  pen  still 
in  his  hand,  he  allowed  his  thoughts  to  dwell  so  in 
timately  on  the  subject  of  his  well-meant  postcript  that 
her  ashen  face  with  its  burning  eyes  seemed  to  take 
shape  in  the  night  beyond.  It  was  a  long  time  before 
he  could  get  rid  of  the  illusion.  Afterwards  he  tried 
to  conjure  up  Hetty's  face  and  to  drive  out  the  like 
ness  of  the  other  woman,  and  found  that  he  could  not 
recall  a  single  feature  in  the  face  of  the  girl  he  loved ! 

When  he  reached  Southlook  in  the  morning,  he 
found  that  nearly  all  of  the  doors  and  windows  were 
boarded  up.  Wagons  were  standing  in  the  stable-yard, 
laden  with  trunks  and  crates.  Servants  without  livery 
were  scurrying  about  the  halls.  There  was  an  air  of 
finality  about  their  movements.  The  place  was  being 
desolated. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Watson,  in  reply  to  his  question, 


DISTURBING  NEWS  349 

"  we  are  in  a  rush.  Mrs.  Wrandall  expects  to  close 
the  'ouse  this  evening,  sir.  We  all  go  up  this  after 
noon.  I  suppose  you  know,  sir,  we  'ave  taken  a  new 
apartment  in  town." 

"  No !  "  exclaimed  Booth. 

*'  Yes,  sir,  we  'ave,  sir.  They've  been  decorating  it 
for  the  pawst  two  weeks.  Seems  like  she  didn't  care 
for  the  old  one  we  'ad.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  didn't 
care  much  for  it,  either.  She's  taken  one  of  them 
hexpensive  ones  looking  out  over  the  Park,  sir.  You 
know  we  used  to  look  out  over  Madison  Avenue,  sirr 
and  God  knows  it  wasn't  hinspirin'.  Yes,  sir,  we  go- 
up  this  afternoon.  Mrs.  Wrandall  will  be  down  in  a 
second,  thank  you,  sir." 

Booth  actually  was  startled  by  her  appearance  when 
she  entered  the  room  a  few  minutes  later.  She  looked 
positively  ill. 

"  My  dear  Sara,"  he  cried  anxiously,  "  this  is  too 
bad.  You  are  making  yourself  ill.  Come,  come,  this 
won't  do." 

"  I  shall  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two,"  she  said, 
with  a  weary  little  gesture.  "  I  have  been  nervous. 
The  strain  was  too  great,  Brandon.  This  is  the  re 
action,  the  relaxation  you  might  say." 

"  Your  hand  is  hot,  your  eyes  look  feverish.  You'd 
better  see  your  doctor  as  soon  as  you  get  to  town. 
An  ounce  of  prevention,  you  know." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  with  a  searching  look  into  his 
eyes,  "  have  you  written  to  her?  " 

"  Yes.     Posted  it  at  seven  o'clock  this  morning." 

"  I  trust  you  did  not  go  so  far  as  to  —  well,  to 
volunteer  a  word  in  my  behalf.  You  were  not  to  do 
that,  you  know." 

He  looked  uncomfortable.     "  I'm  afraid  I  did  take 


350          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

your  name  in  vain,"  he  equivocated.  "  You  are  a  — • 
a  wonderful  woman,  Sara,"  he  went  on,  moved  to  the 
remark  by  a  curious  influence  that  he  could  not  have 
explained  any  more  than  he  could  have  accounted  for 
the  sudden  gush  of  emotion  that  took  possession  of  him. 

She  ignored  the  tribute.  "  You  will  persuade  her 
to  come  to  New  York  with  you  ?  " 

"  For  your  sake,  Sara,  if  she  won't  come  for  mine." 

"  She  knows  the  cage  is  open,"  was  her  way  of  dis 
missing  the  subject.  "  I  am  glad  you  came  over.  I 
have  a  letter  from  Leslie.  It  came  this  morning.  You 
may  be  interested  in  what  he  has  to  say  of  Hetty  — 
and  of  yourself."  She  smiled  faintly.  "  He  is  de 
termined  that  you  shall  not  be  without  a  friend  while 
he  is  alive." 

"  Les  isn't  such  a  rotter,  Sara.  He's  spoiled,  but 
lie  is  hardly  to  be  blamed  for  that." 

"  I  will  read  his  letter  to  you,"  she  said,  and  there 
was  no  little  significance  in  the  way  she  put  it.  She 
held  the  letter  in  her  hand,  but  he  had  failed  to  notice 
it  before.  Now  he  saw  that  it  was  a  crumpled  ball  of 
paper.  He  was  obliged  to  wait  for  a  minute  or  two 
while  she  restored  it  to  a  readable  condition.  "  He 
was  in  London  when  this  was  written,"  she  explained, 
turning  to  the  window  for  light.  She  glanced  swiftly 
over  the  first  page  until  she  found  the  place  where 
she  meant  to  begin.  "  1 1  suppose  Hetty  Castleton  has 
written  that  we  met  in  Lucerne  two  weeks  ago,'  "  she 
read.  "  '  Curious  coincidence  in  connexion  with  it,  too. 
I  was  with  her  father,  Col.  Braid  Castleton,  when  we 
came  upon  her  most  unexpectedly.  I  ran  across  him 
in  Paris  just  before  the  aviation  meet,  and  got  to 
know  him  rather  well.  He's  a  fine  chap,  don't  you 
think?  I  confess  I  was  somewhat  surprised  to  learn 


DISTURBING  NEWS  351 

that  he  didn't  know  she'd  left  America.  He  explained 
it  quite  naturally,  however.  He'd  been  ill  in  the  north 
of  Ireland  and  must  have  missed  her  letters.  Hetty 
was  on  the  point  of  leaving  for  Italy.  We  didn't  see 
much  of  her.  But,  by  Jove,  Sara,  I  am  more  com 
pletely  gone  on  her  than  ever.  She  is  adorable.  Now 
that  I've  met  her  father,  who  had  the  beastly  misfor 
tune  to  miss  old  Murgatroyd's  funeral,  I  can  readily 
see  wherein  the  saying  "  blood  will  tell "  applies  to 
her.  He  is  a  prince.  He  came  over  to  London  with 
me  the  day  after  we  left  Hetty  in  Lucerne,  and  I  had 
him  in  to  meet  mother  and  Vivian  at  Clarridge's.  They 
like  him  immensely.  He  set  us  straight  on  a  good 
many  points  concerning  the  Glynn  and  Castleton  fam 
ilies.  Of  course,  I  knew  they  were  among  the  best 
over  here,  but  I  didn't  know  how  fine  they  were  until 
we  prevailed  on  him  to  talk  a  little  about  himself.  You 
will  be  glad  to  hear  that  he  is  coming  over  with  us 
on  the  Mauretania.  She  sails  the  27th.  We'll  be  on 
the  water  by  the  time  you  get  this  letter.  It  had  been 
our  intention  to  sail  last  week,  but  the  Colonel  had  to 
go  to  Ireland  for  a  few  days  to  settle  some  beastly 
squabbles  among  the  tenants.  Next  year  he  wants  me 
to  come  over  for  the  shooting.  He  isn't  going  back 
to  India  for  two  years,  you  may  be  interested  to  hear. 
Two  years'  leave.  Lots  of  influence,  believe  me ! 
We've  been  expecting  him  back  in  London  since  day 
before  yesterday.  I  dare  say  he  found  matters  worse 
than  he  suspected  and  has  been  delayed.  He  has  been 
negotiating  for  the  sale  of  some  of  his  property  in 
Belfast  —  factory  sites,  I  believe.  He  is  particularly 
anxious  to  close  the  deal  before  he  leaves  England. 
Had  to  lift  a  mortgage  on  the  property,  however,  be 
fore  he  could  think  of  making  the  sale.  I  staked  him 


352          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

to  four  thousand  pounds,  to  tide  him  over.  Of  course, 
he  is  eager  to  make  the  sale.  'Gad,  I  almost  had  to 
beg  him  to  take  the  money.  Terribly  '  proud  and 
haughty,  as  the  butler  would  say.  He  said  he  wouldn't 
sleep  well  until  he  has  returned  the  filthy  lucre.  We 
are  looking  for  him  back  any  hour  now.  But  if  he 
shouldn't  get  here  by  Friday,  we  will  sail  without  him. 
He  said  he  would  follow  by  the  next  boat,  in  case  any 
thing  happened  that  he  didn't  catch  the  Mauretania.'  ' 

Sara  interrupted  herself  to  offer  an  ironic  observa 
tion  :  "  If  Hetty  did  not  despise  her  father  so  heartily, 
I  should  advise  you  to  look  farther  for  a  father-in- 
law,  Brandon.  The  Colonel  is  a  bad  lot.  Estates  in 
the  north  of  Ireland !  Poor  Leslie ! "  She  laughed 
softly. 

"He'll  not  show  up,  eh?" 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  she  said.  "  He  may  be  charged 
to  profit  and  loss  in  Leslie's  books.  This  part  of  the 
letter  will  interest  you,"  she  went  on,  as  if  all  that  had 
gone  before  was  of  no  importance  to  him.  "  '  I  hear 
interesting  news  concerning  you,  my  dear  girl.  My 
heartiest  congratulations  if  it  is  all  true.  Brandy  is 
one  in  a  million.  I  have  hoped  all  along  to  have  him 
as  a  full-fledged  brother-in-law,  but  I'm  satisfied  to 
have  him  as  a  sort  of  step-brother-in-law,  if  that's  the 
way  you'd  put  it.  Father  writes  that  every  one  is 
talking  about  it,  and  saying  what  a  fine  thing  it  is. 
He  has  a  feeling  of  delicacy  about  approaching  you  in 
the  matter,  and  I  fancy  it's  just  as  well  until  every 
thing  is  settled.  I  wish  you'd  let  me  make  a  sugges 
tion,  however.  Wouldn't  it  be  wise  to  let  us  all  get 
together  and  talk  over  the  business  end  of  the  game? 
Brandy's  a  fine  chap,  a  corker,  in  fact,  but  the  ques 
tion  is:  has  he  got  it  in  him  to  take  Challis's  place  in 


DISTURBING  NEWS  353 

the  firm?  You've  got  to  consider  the  future  as  well  as 
the  present,  my  dear.  We  all  do.  With  his  artistic 
temperament  he  might  play  hob  with  your  interests, 
and  ours  too,  for  that  matter.  Wouldn't  it  be  wise 
for  me  to  sound  him  a  bit  before  we  take  him  into  the 
firm?  Forgive  me  for  suggesting  this,  but,  as  you 
know,  your  interests  are  mine,  and  I'm  terribly  keen 
about  seeing  you  get  the  best  of  everything.  By  the 
way,  wasn't  he  a  bit  gone  on  Hetty?  Passing  fancy, 
of  course,  and  not  deep  enough  to  hurt  anybody. 
Good  old  Brandy ! '  " 

"  There  is  more,  Brandon,  but  it's  of  no  conse 
quence,"  she  said,  tossing  the  letter  upon  the  table. 
"  You  see  how  the  land  lays." 

Booth  was  pale  with  annoyance.  "  By  Jove,  Sara, 
what  an  insufferable  ass  he  is ! " 

"  The  shoe  pinches  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  such  perfect  rot !  I'm  sorry  on  your  ac 
count.  Have  you  ever  heard  of  such  gall?  " 

"  Oh,  he  is  merely  acting  as  the  family  spokesman. 
I  can  see  them  now  in  solemn  conclave.  They  think 
it  their  indisputable  right  to  select  a  husband  for  me, 
to  pass  upon  him,  to  accept  or  decline  him  as  they  see 
fit,  to  say  whether  he  is  a  proper  man  to  hang  up  his 
hat  and  coat  in  the  offices  of  Wrandall  &  Co." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  — " 

"  Let's  not  talk  about  it,  Brandon.     It  is  too  silly." 

They  fell  to  discussing  her  plans  for  the  immediate 
future,  although  the  minds  of  both  were  at  work  with 
something  else. 

"  Now  that  I  have  served  my  purpose,  I  suppose  you 
will  not  care  to  see  so  much  of  me,"  she  said,  as  he 
prepared  to  take  leave  of  her. 
.    "  Served  your  purpose?     What  do  you  mean?  " 


354          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  I  should  have  put  it  differently.  You  have  been 
most  assiduous  in  your  efforts  to  force  the  secret  from 
me.  It  has  been  accomplished.  Now  do  you  under 
stand?  " 

"  That  isn't  fair,  Sara,"  he  protested.  "  If  you'll 
let  me  come  to  see  you,  in  spite  of  what  the  gossips 
and  Mr.  Redmond  Wrandall  predict,  you  may  be  sure 
I  will  be  as  much  in  evidence  as  ever.  I  suppose  I  have 
been  a  bit  of  a  nuisance,  hanging  on  as  I  have." 

"  I  admire  your  perseverance.  More  than  that,  I 
admire  your  courage  in  accepting  the  situation  as  you 
have.  I  only  hope  you  may  win  her  over  to  your  way 
of  thinking,  Brandon.  Good-bye." 

"  I  shall  go  up  to  town  to-morrow,  kit  and  bag. 
When  shall  I  see  you?  We  have  a  great  deal  left  to 
talk  about  before  I  sail." 

"  Come  when  you  like." 

"You  really  want  me  to  come?" 

"  Certainly." 

He  studied  her  pale,  tired  face  for  a  moment,  and 
then  shook  his  head.  "  You  must  take  care  of  your 
self,"  he  said.  "  You  are  unstrung.  Get  a  good  rest 
and  —  and  forget  certain  things  if  you  can.  Every 
thing  will  come  out  all  right  in  the  end." 

"  It  depends  on  what  one  is  willing  to  accept  as  the 
end,"  she  said. , 

The  next  morning  she  received  an  expected  visitor 
at  her  apartment.  Expecting  him,  she  made  a  desper 
ate  effort  to  appear  as  strong  and  unconcerned  as  she 
had  been  on  the  occasion  of  a  former  meeting.  There 
was  little  in  her  appearance  to  suggest  worry,  illness 
or  alarm  when  she  entered  the  rather  unsettled  little 
library  and  confronted  the  redoubtable  Mr.  Smith. 

The  detective  had  dropped  her  a  line  earlier  in  the 


DISTURBING  NEWS  355 

week  asking  for  an  audience  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment. 

"  You  are  worried,  madam,"  he  said,  after  he  had 
carefully  closed  the  door  leading  to  the  hall,  "  and  so 
am  I." 

"What  do  you  want  now?"  she  demanded.  "You 
have  received  your  money.  There  is  nothing  else 
that  we—" 

"  Beg  pardon,  Mrs.  Wrandall,  but  there  is  some 
thing  else.  I'm  not  after  more  money,  as  you  may  sus 
pect.  The  size  of  the  matter  is,  I'm  here  to  put  you 
wise  to  what's  going  on  without  your  knowing  any 
thing  about  it.  Right  or  wrong,  I'm  still  interested 
in  this  case  of  yours.  Understand  me,  I  haven't  lifted 
a  finger  since  that  day  in  the  country.  I've  quit  cold, 
just  as  I  said  I  would.  The  trouble  is,  other  people 
are  still  nosing  around." 

"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Smith.  Now,  tell  me  what  you  are 
here  for." 

Smith  followed  her  example  and  sat  down,  drawing 
a  chair  quite  close  to  hers.  He  lowered  his  voice. 

"  Well,  I've  got  next  to  something  I  think  you  ought 
to  know.  Maybe  old  man  Wrandall  is  back  of  it,  but 
I  don't  think  he  is.  You  see,  so  far  as  outsiders  are 
concerned,  that  reward  still  stands.  A  murder's  a 
murder  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it.  There  are  men 
in  this  business  who  are  going  to  hunt  for  that  woman 
until  they  get  her.  See  what  I  mean?" 

"  Please  go  on.  I  suppose  some  one  else  suspects 
me,  and  may  have  to  be  bought  off,"  she  said  so  sig 
nificantly  that  he  turned  a  bright  red. 

"  Now  don't  think  that  of  me,  Mrs.  Wrandall.  I 
am  not  in  on  this,  I  swear.  You  paid  me  of  your  own 
free  will  and  I  laid  down  on  the  job.  I  don't  deny 


356          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

that  I  expected  you  to  do  it.  I'm  not  what  you'd  call 
a  model  of  virtue  and  integrity.  I  served  time  in  the 
pen  a  good  many  years  ago.  They  say  it  takes  a 
thief  to  catch  a  thief.  That's  not  true.  A  detective 
has  to  be  dead  honest  or  the  thief  catches  him.  I 
think  most  of  the  men  in  my  business  are  honest. 
They  have  to  be.  You  may  not  agree  with  me,  but  I 
thought  I  was  doing  the  square  thing  by  you  last  sum 
mer.  I  had  a  theory  and  I  was  honest  in  believing  it 
was  the  right  one.  I  thought  you'd  pay  me  to  drop 
the  matter.  I'm  now  dead  sure  I  was  wrong  in  sus 
pecting  you  for  a  minute.  I'm  no  fool.  I  — " 

Sara  interrupted  him. 

"  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  come  to  the  point,  Mr. 
Smith?  "  she  said  coldly. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  leaning  forward  and  speaking 
very  deliberately,  "  I've  come  here  to  tell  you  that  the 
police  haven't  quit  on  the  job.  They're  about  to  make 
a  worse  mistake  than  I  made." 

She  felt  herself  turn  pale.  It  required  a  great  ef 
fort  of  the  will  to  suppress  the  start  that  might  have 
betrayed  her  to  the  keen-eyed  observer. 

"  That  would  be  impossible,  Mr.  Smith,"  she  said, 
shaking  her  head  and  smiling. 

"  They've  been  watching  that  Ashtley  girl  you  sent 
out  West  just  after  the  —  er  —  thing  happened.  The 
show-girl,  you'll  remember." 

He  must  have  observed  the  swift  look  of  relief  that 
leaped  into  her  eyes. 

"  What  arrant  stupidity,"  she  cried,  unable  to 
choose  her  words.  "  Why,  that  unhappy  girl  is  dying 
a  slow  and  awful  death.  Surely  they  can't  be  hound 
ing  her  now.  Her  innocence  was  clearly  established 
at  the  time.  That  is  why  I  felt  it  to  be  my  duty  to 


DISTURBING  NEWS  357 

help  her.  She  went  out  to  her  old  home,  to  die  or  to 
get  well.  They  must  be  fools." 

"  I'm  just  telling  you,  Mrs.  Wrandall,  that's  all. 
Maybe  you  can  call  'em  off,  if  you  know  for  a  certainty 
that  she's  innocent."  There  was  something  accusing 
in  his  manner. 

She  became  very  cautious.  "  My  opinion  was 
formed  upon  the  girl's  story,  and  by  what  the  police 
said  after  investigating  it  thoroughly." 

"  It's  a  way  the  police  have,  madam.  They  were 
not  satisfied  at  the  time.  They  simply  gave  her  the 
rope,  that's  all.  All  this  time  they've  had  men  watch 
ing  her,  day  by  day,  out  there  in  Montana.  They  say 
they've  got  new  evidence,  a  lot  of  it." 

"  It  is  perfectly  ridiculous,"  she  cried,  very  much 
distressed.  "  And  it  must  be  stopped.  I  shall  see  the 
authorities  at  once." 

"  You  may  be  too  late.  I  heard  last  night  that  she 
is  to  be  re-arrested  out  there  and  put  through  a  fierce 
examination.  They  believe  she's  weakening  and  will 
confess  if  they  go  after  her  hard  enough." 

"  Confess?  How  can  she  confess  when  she  knows 
she  is  innocent?"  she  said  sharply. 

"  You  don't  know  much  about  the  third  degree,  Mrs. 
Wrandall.  I've  known  innocent  people  to  confess  un 
der  the  bullying — " 

"It  must  be  stopped!  Do  you  hear  me?  This 
thing  cannot  go  on."  She  began  to  pace  the  floor  in 
her  agitation.  "  Yes,  I  have  heard  of  those  third  de 
gree  atrocities.  You  are  right,  they  may  brow-beat 
the  poor,  sick  thing  into  a  confession.  Does  she  know 
they  have  been  watching  her?" 

"  Sure.  That's  part  of  the  game.  They  make  it  a 
point  to  get  on  the  nerves.  Something  is  bound  to 


358          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

give,  sooner  or  later.  They've  got  her  scared  to  death. 
She  knows  they're  simply  waiting  for  a  chance  to 
catch  her  unawares  and  trip  her  up.  I  tell  you,  it's 
a  fearful  strain.  Strong  men  go  down  under  it  time 
and  again.  What  must  it  be  to  this  half-dead  girl, 
who  hasn't  much  to  be  proud  of  in  life  at  the  very 
best?" 

"  Tell  me  what  to  do,"  she  cried,  sitting  down  again, 
her  eyes  suddenly  filling  with  tears. 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am.  You  see,  if  we  had  a  grain 
of  proof  to  work  on,  we  might  be  able  to  turn  'em 
back,  but  there's  the  rub.  We  can't  say  they're  wrong 
without  having  something  up  our  sleeves  to  show  that 
we  are  right.  See  what  I  mean  ?  " 

"  But  I  tell  you  she  is  innocent !  " 

"  Can  you  swear  to  that,  Mrs.  Wrandall  ?  " 

"  I  —  I  believe  I  can,"  she  said,  and  then  experi 
enced  a  sharp  sense  of  dismay.  What  possessed  her  to 
say  it  ?  "  That  is,  I  could  stake  my  — " 

"  All  that  won't  count  for  anything,  if  they  get  a 
signed  confession  out  of  her.  Now  we  both  know  she 
is  innocent.  I'm  willing  to  do  what  I  can  to  help  you. 
Turn  about  is  fair  play.  If  you  want  to  send  me  out 
there,  I'll  try  to  spike  their  guns.  Maybe  I  can  get 
there  in  time  to  put  fresh  heart  in  the  girl.  She's 
safe  if  she  doesn't  go  to  pieces  and  say  something  she 
oughtn't  to  say." 

"  Oh,  this  is  dreadful,"  she  cried,  harassed  beyond 
words. 

"  It  sure  is.  You  see,  the  police  work  on  the  theory 
that  some  one's  just  got  to  be  guilty  of  that  crime. 
If  it  ain't  the  girl  out  yonder,  then  who  is  it?  They 
know  her  private  history.  She  said  enough  when  she 
was  in  custody  last  year  to  show  that  she  might  have 


DISTURBING  NEWS  359 

had  a  pretty  good  reason  for  going  after  your  hus 
band  —  begging  your  pardon.  You  remember  she 
said  he'd  given  her  the  go-by  not  more  than  two  days 
before  he  was  killed.  They'd  been  good  friends  up  to 
then.  All  of  a  sudden  he  chucks  her,  without  cere 
mony.  She  admits  she  was  sore  about  it.  She  says 
she  would  have  done  him  dirt  if  she  had  had  the  chance. 
Well,  that's  against  her.  She  did  prove  an  alibi,  as 
you  remember,  but  they're  easy  to  frame  up  if  neces 
sary.  I  don't  think  she  was  clever  enough  to  do  the 
job  and  get  away  as  slick  as  the  real  one  did.  She 
was  a  booze-fighter  in  those  days.  They  always  mess 
things  up.  A  mighty  smooth  party  did  that  job. 
Some  one  with  a  good  deal  more  at  stake  than  that 
poor,  reckless  girl  who  didn't  care  much  what  became 
of  her.  But  the  trouble  is  here:  they've  got  her  half 
crazy  with  fear.  First  thing  we  know,  she'll  go  clear 
off  her  head  and  believe  she  did  it.  Then  the  law  will 
be  satisfied.  She's  so  far  gone,  I  hear,  that  she  won't 
live  to  be  brought  to  trial,  of  course.  There's  some- 
consolation  in  that." 

"  Consolation !  "  cried  Sara  bitterly.  "  She  is  bad, 
as  bad  as  a  woman  can  be,  I  know,  but  I  can't  feel 
anything  but  pity  for  her  now." 

"  I  guess  your  husband  made  her  what  she  was,'* 
said  Smith  deliberately.  "  I  don't  suppose  you  ever 
dreamed  what  was  going  on." 

She  regarded  him  with  a  fixed  stare.  "  You  are 
mistaken,  Mr.  Smith,"  she  said,  and  it  was  his  turn  to 
stare.  "  Come  back  this  evening  at  six.  I  must  con 
sult  Mr.  Carroll.  We  will  decide  what  action  to  take." 

"  I'd  advise  you  to  be  quick  about  it,  Mrs.  Wran- 
dall.  Something's  bound  to  happen  soon.  The  time 
is  ripe.  I  know  for  a  positive  fact  that  they're  expect- 


360          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

ing  news  from  out  there  every  day.  It'd  be  a  God's 
blessing  if  the  poor  wretch  could  die  before  they  get  a 
chance  at  her." 

She  started.  "  A  God's  blessing,"  she  repeated 
dully. 

"  Pretty  hard  lines,  though,"  he  mused,  fumbling 
with  his  hat  near  the  door.  "  Even  death  wouldn't 
clear  her  of  the  suspicion.  Pretty  tough  to  be  branded 
a,  murderess,  no  matter  whether  you're  in  the  grave  or 
out  of  it.  I'll  be  back  at  six." 

She  stood  perfectly  still,  and,  although  her  lips 
were  parted,  she  allowed  him  to  go  without  a  word  in 
response  to  his  sombre  declaration. 

Half  an  hour  later  Mr.  Carroll  was  on  his  way  to 
her  apartment,  vastly  perturbed  by  the  call  that  had 
come  to  him  over  the  telephone. 

While  waiting  for  him  to  appear,  Sara  Wrandall 
deliberately  set  herself  to  the  task  of  concocting  a 
likely  and  plausible  excuse  for  intervention  in  behalf 
of  the  wretched  show-girl.  She  prepared  herself  for 
his  argument  that  the  police  might  be  right  after  all, 
and  that  it  would  be  the  better  part  of  wisdom  to 
shift  the"  burden  to  their  shoulders.  She  knew  she 
"would  be  called  upon  to  discount  some  very  sensible 
advice  from  the  faithful  old  lawyer.  Her  reasons 
would  have  to  be  good  ones,  not  mere  whims.  He  was 
not  likely  to  be  moved  by  sentimentality.  Moreover, 
he  had  once  expressed  doubt  as  to  the  girl's  innocence. 

It  did  not  once  occur  to  her  that  it  was  Mr.  Carroll's 
business  to  respect  the  secrets  of  his  clients. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

THE    HOLLOW    OF    HER    HAND 

To  her  secret  amazement,  the  old  lawyer  did  not  offer 
a  single  protest  when  she  repeated  her  convictions  that 
the  girl  was  innocent  and  should  be  protected  against 
herself  as  well  as  against  the  police.  There  was  some 
thing  very  disquieting  in  the  way  he  acquiesced.  She 
began  to  experience  a  vague,  uneasy  sense  of  wonder 
and  apprehension. 

"  I  am  beginning  to  agree  with  that  amiable  scoun 
drel,  Smith,"  he  said,  fixing  his  inscrutable  gaze  on  the 
snapping  coals  in  the  fireplace.  "  A  cleverer  woman 
than  this  Miss  —  er  —  What's-Her-Name  managed 
that  affair  at  Burton's  Inn." 

She  watched  his  face  closely.  Somehow  she  felt  that 
he  was  about  to  mention  the  name  of  the  woman  he  sus 
pected,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  her  heart  stood  still 
during  the  moment  of  suspense. 

He  lifted  his  eyes  to  her  face.  She  saw  something  in 
them  that  set  her  to  trembling. 

"Why  not  be  fair  with  me,  Sara?"  he  asked 
calmly.  She  stared  at  him,  transfixed.  "  Who  killed 
Challis  Wrandall?" 

She  opened  her  lips  to  protest  against  this  startling 
question,  but  something  rushed  up  from  within  to  com 
pletely  change  the  whole  course  of  her  conduct;  some 
thing  she  could  not  explain  but  which  swept  away 
every  vestige  of  strength,  and  left  her  weak  and  trem 
bling,  open-mouthed  and  pallid,  with  the  liberated 
truth  surging  up  from  its  prison  to  give  itself  into 

361 


362          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

the  keeping  of  this  staunch,  loyal  old  friend  and  coun 
sellor. 

Carroll  heard  her  through  to  the  very  end  of  the 
story  without  an  interruption.  Then  he  crossed  over 
and  laid  his  hands  on  her  shoulders ;  there  was  a  gleam 
of  relief  and  satisfaction  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  did  not  come  to  me  with  all  this 
in  the  beginning,  Sara.  A  few  words  from  me, — 
kindly  words,  my  dear, —  would  have  shown  you  the 
error  of  your  ways  and  you  would  have  cast  out  the 
ugly  devils  that  beset  you.  You  would  not  have 
planned  the  thing  you  are  so  ashamed  of  now.  To 
gether  we  could  have  protected  Hetty  and  she  would 
not  be  your  accuser  now.  You  began  nobly.  I  am 
sorry  you  have  the  other  part  of  it  to  look  back  upon. 
But  you  may  rest  assured  of  one  thing:  you  and  Miss 
Castleton  have  nothing  to  fear.  We  will  keep  the  se 
cret,  if  needs  be,  but  if  it  should  come  to  the  worst  no 
harm  would  result  to  her  through  the  law.  The  main 
thing  now  is  to  protect  that  unhappy  girl  out  West 
against  the  inquisition." 

She  sat  with  bowed  head. 

When  Smith  returned  at  six  o'clock,  he  found  not 
only  Mr.  Carroll  waiting  for  him  but  Brandon  Booth 
as  well.  His  instructions  were  clearly  defined  and  con 
cise.  He  was  to  proceed  without  delay  to  Montana, 
where  he  was  to  bolster  up  the  frail  girl's  courage  and 
prevent  if  possible  the  disaster.  Moreover,  he  was  to 
assure  her  that  Challis  WrandalPs  wife  forgave  her 
and  would  contest  every  effort  made  by  the  police  to 
lay  the  crime  at  her  door.  He  was  empowered  to  en 
gage  legal  counsel  on  his  arrival  in  the  Western  town 
and  to  fight  every  move  of  the  police,  not  only  in  be 
half  of  the  girl  herself,  but  of  Sara  Wrandall,  who 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND          363 

thus  publicly  pronounced  her  faith  in  the  young 
woman's  innocence. 

It  was  all  very  cleverly  thought  out,  and  Smith  went 
away  without  being  much  wiser  than  when  he  came. 
Before  departing  he  offered  this  rather  sinister  con 
clusion  for  Sara's  benefit: 

"  Of  course,  Mrs.  Wrandall,  you  understand  that 
the  police  will  wonder  why  you  take  such  an  interest 
in  this  girl.  They're  bound  to  think,  and  so  will 
every  one  else,  that  you  know  a  good  deal  more  about 
the  case  than  you've  given  out.  See  what  I  mean  ?  " 

"  They  are  at  liberty  to  think  what  they  like,  Mr. 
Smith,"  said  she. 

After  Smith  had  gone,  the  three  discussed  the  ad 
visability  of  acquainting  Hetty  with  the  deplorable 
conditions  that  had  arisen. 

"  I  don't  believe  it  would  be  wise  to  tell  her,"  said 
Booth  reflectively.  "  She'd  be  sure  to  sacrifice  her- 
•self  rather  than  let  harm  come  to  this  girl.  We 
couldn't  stop  her." 

"  No,  she  must  not  be  told,"  said  Sara,  with  finality. 

"  She  is  almost  sure  to  find  this  out  for  herself 
some  time,"  said  the  lawyer  dubiously.  "  I  think  we'd 
tetter  take  her  into  our  confidence.  It  is  only  right 
and  just,  you  know." 

"  Not  at  present,  not  at  present,"  said  Sara  irri 
tably.  "  It  would  ruin  everything." 

Booth  appreciated  her  reasons  for  delay  much  more 
clearly  than  they  appeared  to  the  matter-of-fact  law 
yer. 

"  The  girl  may  die  at  any  time,"  he  explained,  ad 
dressing  Mr.  Carroll,  but  not  without  a  queer  thrill  of 
shame. 

"  That   is   not   what    I   meant,   Brandon,"    she   ex- 


364          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

claimed.  "  I  want  Hetty  to  come  back  with  but  one 
motive  in  her  heart.  Can't  you  see?  " 

As  Booth  and  the  lawyer  walked  down  Fifth  Avenue 
toward  the  club  where  they  were  to  dine  together,  the 
latter,  after  a  long  silence,  made  a  remark  that  dis 
turbed  the  young  man  vastly. 

"  She's  going  all  to  pieces,  Booth.  Bound  to  col 
lapse.  That's  the  way  with  these  strong-minded,  se 
cret,  pent-up  natures.  She  has  brooded  all  these 
months  and  she's  been  living  a  lie.  Well,  the  break 
has  come.  She's  told  you  and  me.  Now,  do  you 
know  what  I'm  afraid  will  happen?  " 

"  I  think  I  know  what's  in  your  mind,"  said  the 
younger  man  seriously.  "  You  are  afraid  she'll  tell 
others?" 

The  lawyer  tapped  his  forehead  significantly.  "  It 
may  result  in  that." 

"  Never !  "  cried  the  other  emphatically.  "  It  will 
never  be  that  way  with  her,  Mr.  Carroll.  Her  head 
is  as  clear  as  — " 

"  Brain  fever,"  interrupted  Carroll,  with  a  gloomy 
shake  of  his  head.  "  Delirium  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  Haven't  you  noticed  how  ill  she  looks?  Fever 
ish,  nervous,  irritable?  Well,  there  you  are." 

"  It  is  a  dreadful  state  of  affairs,"  groaned  Booth. 

"  Not  especially  pleasant  for  you,  my  friend." 

"  God  knows  it  isn't !  " 

"  I  believe,  if  I  were  in  your  place,  I'd  rather  have 
the  truth  told  broadcast  than  to  live  for  ever  with  that 
peril  hanging  over  me.  It  would  be  better  for  Miss 
Castleton,  too." 

"  I  am  not  worrying  over  that,  sir,"  said  the  other 
earnestly.  "  I  shall  be  able  and  ready  to  defend  her, 
no  matter  what  happens.  To  be  perfectly  honest  with 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND          365 

you,  I  don't  believe  she's  accountable  to  any  one  but 
God  in  this  matter.  The  law  has  no  claim  against 
her,  except  in  a  perfunctory  way.  I  don't  deny  that 
it  is  only  right  and  just  that  Wrandall's  family  should, 
know  the  truth,  if  she  chooses  to  reveal  it  to  them. 
If  she  doesn't,  I  shall  be  the  last  to  suggest  it  to  her."' 

"  On  that  point  I  thoroughly  agree  with  you.  The- 
Wrandall  family  should  know  the  truth.  It  is  — 
well,  I  came  near  to  using  the  word  diabolical  —  to* 
keep  them  in  ignorance.  There  is  something  owing; 
to  the  Wrandalls,  if  not  to  the  law." 

"  Of  course  they  would  make  a  merciless  effort  to 
prosecute  her,"  said  Booth,  feeling  the  cold  sweat  start 
on  his  brow. 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,  my  friend,"  was  the 
rather  hopeful  opinion  of  the  old  man.  He  appeared 
to  be  weighing  something  in  his  mind,  for  as  they 
walked  along  he  shook  his  head  from  time  to  time  and 
muttered  under  his  breath,  the  while  his  companion 
maintained  a  gloomy  silence. 

The  perceptions  of  the  astute  old  lawyer  were  not 
far  out  of  the  way,  as  developments  of  the  next  day 
were  to  prove.  When  Booth  called  in  the  afternoon 
at  Sara's  apartment,  he  was  met  by  the  news  that  she 
was  quite  ill  and  could  see  no  one, —  not  even  him. 
The  doctor  had  been  summoned  during  the  night  and 
had  returned  in  the  morning,  to  find  that  she  had  a 
very  high  temperature.  The  butler  could  not  en 
lighten  Booth  further  than  this,  except  to  add  that  a 
nurse  was  coming  in  to  take  charge  of  Mrs.  Wran 
dall,  more  for  the  purpose  of  watching  her  symptoms 
than  for  anything  else,  he  believed.  At  least,  so  the 
doctor  had  said. 

Two  days  passed  before  the  distressed  young  man 


r366          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

could  get  any  definite  news  concerning  her  condition. 
.He  unconsciously  began  to  think  of  it  as  a  malady,  not 
a  mere  illness,  due  of  course  to  the  remark  Carroll  had 
•dropped.  It  was  Carroll  himself  who  gave  a  definite 
-report  >of  Sara.  He  met  the  lawyer  coming  away 
tfrom  the  apartment  when  he  called  to  inquire. 

"  She  isn't  out  of  her  head,  or  anything  like  that," 
isaid  Carroll  uneasily,  "  but  she's  in  a  bad  way,  Booth. 
She  is  worrying  over  that  girl  out  West,  of  course, 
but  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think  is  troubling  her  more 
than  anything  else.  Down  in  her  heart  she  realises 
that  Hetty  Castleton  has  got  to  be  brought  face  to 
face  with  the  Wrandalls." 

"  The  deuce  you  say !  " 

"  To-day  I  saw  her  for  the  first  time.  Almost  im 
mediately  she  asked  me  if  I  thought  the  Wrandalls 
would  treat  Hetty  fairly  if  they  ever  found  out  the 
truth  about  her.  I  said  I  thought  they  would.  I 
didn't  have  the  heart  to  tell  her  that  their  grievance 
undoubtedly  would  be  shifted  from  Hetty  to  her,  and 
that  they  wouldn't  be  likely  to  forgive  her  for  the 
stand  she'd  taken.  She  doesn't  seem  to  care,  however, 
what  the  Wrandalls  think  of  her.  By  the  way,  have 
you  any  influence  over  Hetty  Castleton?  " 

"  I  wish  I  were  sure  that  I  had,"  said  Booth. 

"  Do  you  think  she  would  come  if  you  sent  her  a 
cablegram  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  over  — " 

*'  She  will  have  your  letter  in  a  couple  of  days,  ac- 
•cording  to  Sara,  who  seems  to  have  a  very  faithful 
•correspondent  in  the  person  of  that  maid.  I  shudder 
to  think  of  the  cable  tolls  in  the  past  few  months !  I 
sometimes  wonder  if  the  maid  suspects  anything  more 
than  a  loving  interest  in  Miss  Castleton.  What  I  was 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND          367 

.about  to  suggest  is  this :  Couldn't  you  cable  her  on 
Friday  saying  that  Sara  is  very  ill?  This  is  Tues 
day.  We'll  be  having  word  from  Smith  to-morrow,  I 
should  think." 

"  I  will  cable,  of  course,  but  Sara  must  not  know  that 
I've  done  it." 

"  Can  you  come  to  my  office  to-morrow  afternoon  ?  " 

"  Yes.  To-morrow  night  I  shall  go  over  to  Phila 
delphia,  to  be  gone  till  Friday.  I  hope  it  will  not  be 
necessary  for  me  to  stay  longer.  You  never  can  tell 
about  these  operations." 

"  I  trust  everything  will  go  well,  Brandon." 

Several  things  of  note  transpired  before  noon  on 
Friday. 

The  Wrandalls  arrived  from  Europe,  without  the  re 
calcitrant  Colonel.  Mr.  Redmond  Wrandall,  who  met 
them  at  the  dock,  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  He  will  be  over  on  the  Lusitania,  next  sailing," 
said  Leslie,  who  for  some  reason  best  known  to  himself 
wore  a  troubled  look. 

Mr.  Wrandall's  face  fell.  "  I  hope  not,"  he  said, 
much  to  the  indignation  of  his  wife  and  the  secret  un 
easiness  of  his  son.  "  These  predatory  connections  of 
the  British  nobility  — " 

"  Predatory  !  "  gasped  Mrs.  Wrandall. 

" —  are  a  blood-sucking  lot,"  went  on  the  old  gentle 
man  firmly.  "  If  he  comes  to  New  York,  Leslie,  I'll 
stake  my  head  he  won't  be  long  in  borrowing  a  few 
thousand  dollars  from  each  of  us.  And  he'll  not  seek 
to  humiliate  us  by  attempting  to  pay  it  back.  Oh,  I 
know  them." 

Leslie  swallowed  rather  hard.  "  What's  the  news 
here,  Dad?"  he  asked  hastily.  "Anybody  dead?" 


368          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  Sara  is  quite  ill,  I  hear.  Slow  fever  of  some  sort, 
Carroll  tells  me." 

"  Is  she  going  to  marry  Brandy  Booth?  "  asked  his 
son. 

Mr.  Wrandall's  face  stiffened.  "  I  fear  I  was  a  lit 
tle  hasty  in  my  conclusions.  Brandon  came  to  the 
office  a  few  days  ago  and  informed  me  in  rather  plain 
words  that  there  is  absolutely  nothing  in  the  report.'* 

"  The  deuce  you  say !  'Gad,  I  wrote  her  a  rather 
intimate  letter  — "  Leslie  got  no  farther  than  this. 
He  was  somewhat  stunned  and  bewildered  by  his  private 
reflections. 

Mr.  Wrandall  was  lost  in  study  for  some  minutes, 
paying  no  attention  to  the  remarks  of  the  other  occu 
pants  of  the  motor  that  whirled  them  across  town. 

"  By  the  way,  my  dear,"  he  said  to  his  wife,  a  trifle 
irrelevantly,  "  don't  you  think  it  would  be  right  for 
you  and  Vivian  to  drop  in  this  afternoon  and  see  Sara? 
just  to  let  her  know  that  she  isn't  without  — " 

"  It's  out  of  the  question,  Redmond,"  said  his  wife, 
a  shocked  expression  in  her  face  as  much  as  to  say 
that  he  must  be  quite  out  of  his  head  to  suggest  such 
a  thing.  "  We  shall  be  dreadfully  busy  for  several 
days,  unpacking  and  —  well,  doing  all  sorts  of  neces 
sary  things." 

"  She  is  pretty  sick,  I  hear,"  mumbled  he. 

"  Hasn't  she  got  a  nurse?  "  demanded  his  wife. 

"  I  merely  offered  the  suggestion  in  order  — " 

"  Well,  we'll  see  her  next  week.     Any  other  news  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Booth,  Brandon's  mother,  was  operated  on 
for  something  or  other  day  before  yesterday." 

"Oh,  dear!     The  poor  thing!     Where?" 

"  Philadelphia,  of  course." 

"  I  wonder  if  —  let  me  see,  Leslie,  isn't  there  a  good 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND          369 

train  to  Philadelphia  at  four  o'clock?     I  could  go  — " 

"  Really,  my  dear,"  said  her  husband  sharply. 

"  You  forget  how  busy  we  are,  mother,"  said  Vivian, 
without  a  smile. 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  Mrs.  Wrandall,  in  considerable 
confusion.  "Was  it  a  serious  operation,  Redmond?" 

"  They  cut  a  bone  out  of  her  nose,  that's  all. 
Brandon  says  her  heart  is  weak.  They  were  afraid  of 
the  ether.  She's  all  right,  Carroll  says." 

"  Goodness ! "  cried  Mrs.  Wrandall.  One  might 
have  suspected  a  note  of  disappointment  in  her  voice. 

"  I  shall  go  up  to  see  Sara  this  afternoon,"  said 
Vivian  calmly.  "  What's  the  number  of  her  new 
apartment  ?  " 

*'  You  have  been  up  to  see  her,  of  course,"  said  Mrs. 
Wrandall  acidly. 

He  fidgetted.  "  I  didn't  hear  of  her  illness  until 
yesterday." 

"  I'll  go  up  with  you,  Viv,"  said  Leslie. 

"  No,  you  won't,"  said  his  sister  flatly.  "  I'm  going 
to  apologise  to  her  for  something  I  said  to  Brandon 
Booth.  You  needn't  tag  along,  Les." 

At  half-past  five  in  the  afternoon,  the  Wrandall 
limousine  stopped  in  front  of  the  tall  apartment 
building  near  the  Park,  a  footman  jerked  open  the 
door,  and  Miss  Wrandall  stepped  out.  At  the  same 
moment  a  telegraph  messenger  boy  paused  on  the  side 
walk  to  compute  the  artistic  but  puzzling  numerals  on 
the  imposing  grilled  doors  of  the  building. 

Miss  Wrandall  had  herself  announced  by  the  ob 
sequious  doorman,  and  stood  by  in  patience  to  wait 
for  the  absurd  rule  of  the  house  to  be  carried  out: 
"  No  one  could  get  in  without  being  announced  from 
below,"  said  the  doorman. 


370          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  I  c'n  get  in  all  right,  all  right,"  said  the  messen 
ger  boy,  "  I  got  a  telly  gram  for  de  loidy." 

"  Go  to  the  rear ! "  exclaimed  the  doorman,  with 
some  energy. 

While  Miss  Wrandall  waited  in  Sara's  reception  hall 
on  the  tenth  floor,  the  messenger,  having  traversed  a 
more  devious  route,  arrived  with  his  message. 

Watson  took  the  envelope  and  told  him  to  wait. 
Five  minutes  passed.  Miss  Wrandall  grew  very  un 
comfortable  under  the  persistent  though  complimen 
tary  gaze  of  the  street  urchin.  He  stared  at  her, 
wide-eyed  and  admiring,  his  tribute  to  the  glorious. 
She  stared  back  occasionally,  narrow-eyed  and  reprov 
ing,  her  tribute  to  the  grotesque. 

"  Will  you  please  step  into  the  drawing-room,  Miss 
Wrandall,"  said  Watson,  returning.  He  led  her 
across  the  small  foyer  and  threw  open  a  door.  She 
passed  into  the  room  beyond. 

Then  he  turned  to  the  boy  who  stood  beside  the  hall 
seat,  making  change  for  a  quarter  as  he  approached. 
'*  Here,"  he  said,  handing  him  the  receipt  book  and  a 
dime,  "  that's  for  you."  He  dropped  the  quarter  into 
his  own  pocket,  where  it  mingled  with  coins  that  were 
strangers  to  it  up  to  that  instant,  and  imperiously 
closed  the  door  behind  the  boy  who  failed  to  say 
"  thank  you."  Every  man  to  his  trade ! 

There  was  a  woman  in  the  drawing-room  when 
Vivian  entered,  standing  well  over  against  the  win 
dows  with  her  back  to  the  light.  The  visitor  stopped 
short  in  surprise.  She  had  expected  to  find  her  sister- 
in-law  in  bed,  attended  by  a  politely  superior  person 
in  pure  white. 

"  Why,  Sara,"  she  began,  "  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you 
are  up  and — " 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND          371 

The  other  woman  came  forward.  "  But  I  am  not 
Sara,  Miss  Wrandall,"  she  said,  in  a  well-remembered 
voice.  "  How  do  you  do  ?  " 

Vivian  found  herself  looking  into  the  face  of  Hetty 
Castleton.  Instantly  she  extended  her  hand. 

"  This  is  a  surprise !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  When  did 
you  return?  Leslie  told  me  your  plans  were  quite  set 
tled  when  he  saw  you  in  Lucerne.  Oh,  I  see!  Of 
course !  How  stupid  of  me.  Sara  sent  for  you." 

"  She  has  been  quite  ill,"  said  Hetty,  non-commit- 
tally.  "  We  got  in  yesterday.  I  thought  my  place 
was  here,  naturally." 

"  Naturally,"  repeated  Vivian,  in  a  detached  sort 
of  way.  "  How  is  she  to-day  ?  May  I  see  her  ?  " 

"  She  is  very  much  better.  In  fact,  she  is  sitting  up 
in  her  room."  A  warm  flush  suffused  her  face,  a  shy 
smile  appeared  in  her  eyes.  "  She  is  receiving  two 
gentlemen  visitors,  to  be  perfectly  honest,  Miss  Wran 
dall,  her  lawyer,  Mr.  Carroll,  and  —  Mr.  Booth." 

They  were  seated  side  by  side  on  the  uncomfortable 
Louis  Seize  divan  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  Perhaps  she  won't  care  to  see  me,  after  an  audi 
ence  so  fatiguing,"  said  Miss  Wrandall  sweetl}*-. 
"  And  so  exasperating,"  she  added,  with  a  smile. 

Hetty  looked  her  perplexity. 

"  But  she  will  see  you,  Miss  Wrandall  —  if  you 
don't  mind  waiting.  It  is  a  business  conference  they're 
having." 

An  ironic  gleam  appeared  in  the  corner  of  Vivian's 
eye.  "  Oh,"  she  said,  and  waited.  Hetty  smiled  un 
certainly.  All  at  once  the  tall  American  girl  was  im 
pressed  by  the  wistful,  almost  humble  look  in  the  Eng 
lishwoman's  eyes,  an  appealing  look  that  caused  her 
to  wonder  not  a  little.  Like  a  flash  she  jumped  at  an 


372          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

obvious  conclusion,  and  almost  caught  her  breath. 
This  girl  loved  Booth  and  was  losing  him !  Vivian  ex 
ulted  for  a  moment  and  then,  with  an  impulse  she 
could  not  quite  catalogue,  laid  her  hand  on  the  other's 
slim  fingers,  and  murmured  somewhat  hazily :  "  Never 
mind,  never  mind !  " 

"  Oh,  you  must  wait,"  cried  Hetty,  not  at  all  in 
touch  with  the  other's  mood.  "  Sara  expects  to  see 
you.  The  men  will  be  out  in  a  few  minutes." 

"  I  think  I  will  run  in  to-morrow  morning,"  said 
Vivian  hastily.  She  arose  almost  immediately  and 
again  extended  her  hand.  "  So  glad  to  see  you  back 
again,  Miss  Castleton.  Come  and  see  me.  Give  my 
love  to  Sara." 

She  took  her  departure  in  some  haste,  and  in  her 
heart  she  was  rejoicing  that  she  had  not  succeeded  in 
making  a  fool  of  herself  by  confessing  to  Sara  that 
she  had  said  unkind  things  about  her  to  Brandon 
Booth. 

Hetty  resumed  her  seat  in  the  broad  French  window 
and  stared  out  over  the  barren  tree-tops  in  the  Park. 
A  frightened,  pathetic  droop  returned  to  her  lips.  It 
had  been  there  most  of  the  day. 

In  Sara's  boudoir,  the  doors  of  which  were  carefully 
closed,  three  persons  were  in  close,  even  repressed  con 
ference.  The  young  mistress  of  the  house  sat  propped 
up  in  a  luxurious  chaise-longue,  wan  but  intense. 
Confronting  her  were  the  two  men,  leaning  forward  in 
their  chairs.  Mr.  Carroll  held  in  his  hand  a  number 
of  papers,  prominent  among  them  being  three  or  four 
telegrams.  Booth's  face  was  radiant  despite  the  se 
rious  matter  that  occupied  his  mind.  He  had  reached 
town  early  in  the  morning  in  response  to  a  telephone 
message  from  Carroll  announcing  the  sudden,  unan- 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND          373 

nounced  appearance  of  Hetty  Castleton  at  his  offices 
on  the  previous  afternoon.  The  girl's  arrival  had 
been  most  unexpected.  She  walked  in  on  Mr.  Car 
roll,  accompanied  by  her  maid,  who  had  a  distinctly 
sheepish  look  in  her  eyes  and  seemed  eager  to  explain 
something  but  could  not  find  the  opportunity. 

With  some  firmness,  Miss  Castleton  had  asked  Mr. 
Carroll  to  explain  why  the  woman  had  been  set  to  spy 
upon  her  every  movement,  a  demand  the  worthy  law 
yer  could  not  very  well  meet  for  the  good  and  sufficient 
reason  that  he  wasn't  very  clear  about  it  himself. 
Then  Hetty  broke  down  and  cried,  confessing  that  she 
was  eager  to  go  to  Mrs.  Wrandall,  at  the  same  time 
sobbing  out  something  about  a  symbolic  dicky-bird, 
much  to  Mr.  Carroll's  wonder  and  perplexity. 

He  sent  the  maid  from  the  room,  and  retired  with 
Miss  Castleton  to  the  innermost  of  his  private  offices, 
where  without  much  preamble  he  informed  her  that  he 
knew  everything.  Moreover,  Mr.  Booth  was  in  pos 
session  of  all  the  facts  and  was  even  then  on  the  point 
of  starting  for  Europe  to  see  her.  Of  course,  his  let 
ter  had  failed  to  reach  her  in  time.  There  was  quite 
a  tragic  scene  in  the  seclusion  of  that  remote  little 
office,  during  which  Mr.  Carroll  wiped  his  eyes  and 
blew  his  nose  more  than  once,  after  which  he  took  it 
upon  himself  to  despatch  a  messenger  to  Sara  with  the 
word  that  he  and  Miss  Castleton  would  present  them 
selves  within  half  an  hour  after  his  note  had  been  de 
livered. 

A  telegram  already  had  come  from  Smith  in  the 
far-away  Montana  town,  transmitting  news  that  dis 
turbed  him  more  than  he  cared  to  admit.  The  show 
girl  was  lying  at  the  point  of  death,  and  he  was  hav 
ing  a  very  hard  time  of  it  trying  to  keep  the  resolute 


374          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

authorities  from  swooping  down  upon  her  for  the  ante- 
mortem  statement  they  desired.  It  would  appear  that 
he  arrived  just  in  time  to  put  courage  into  the  girl. 
He  would  see  to  it  that  any  statement  she  made  would 
be  the  truth!  But  Mr.  Carroll  was  not  so  sure  of 
Smith's  ability  to  avert  disaster.  He  knew  something 
of  the  terrors  of  the  third  degree.  The  police  would 
fight  hard  for  vindication. 

The  meeting  between  Sara  and  Hetty  was  affecting. 
Almost  immediately  the  former  began  to 
show  the  most  singular  signs  of  improvement.  She 
laughed  and  cried  and  joyously  announced  to  the  pro 
testing  nurse  that  she  was  feeling  quite  well  again ! 
And,  in  truth,  she  got  up  from  the  couch  on  which  she 
reclined  and  insisted  on  being  dressed  for  dinner.  In 
another  room  the  amazed  nurse  was  frantically  appeal 
ing  to  Mr.  Carroll  to  let  her  send  for  the  doctor,  only 
to  be  confounded  by  his  urbane  announcement  that 
Mrs.  Wrandall  was  as  "  right  as  a  string  "  and,  please 
God,  she  wouldn't  need  the  services  of  doctor  or  nurse 
again  for  years  to  come.  Then  he  asked  the  nurse  if 
she  had  ever  heard  of  a  disease  called  "  nostalgia." 

She  said  she  had  heard  of  "  home-sickness." 

"Well,  that's  what  ailed  Mrs.  Wrandall,"  he  said. 
"  Miss  Castleton  is  the  cure." 

Booth  came  the  next  morning.  .  .  .  Even  as 
she  lay  passive  in  his  arms,  Hetty  denied  him.  Her 
arms  were  around  his  neck  as  she  miserably  whispered 
that  she  could  not,  would  not  be  his  wife,  notwithstand 
ing  her  love  for  him  and  his  readiness  to  accept  her  as 
she  was.  She  was  obdurate,  lovingly,  tenderly  ob 
durate.  He  would  have  despaired  but  for  Sara,  to 
whom  he  afterwards  appealed. 

"  Wait,"  was   all  that   Sara  had  said,  but  he  took 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND          375 

heart.  He  was  beginning  to  look  upon  her  as  a  sor 
ceress.  A  week  ago  he  had  felt  sorry  for  her;  his 
heart  had  been  touched  by  her  transparent  misery. 
To-day  he  saw  her  in  another  light  altogether;  as  the 
determined,  resourceful,  calculating  woman  who,  hav 
ing  failed  to  attain  a  certain  end,  was  now  intensely, 
keenly  interested  in  the  development  of  another  of  a. 
totally  different  nature.  He  could  not  feel  sorry  for 
her  to-day. 

Hetty  deliberately  had  placed  herself  in  their  hands, 
withdrawing  from  the  conference  shortly  before 
Vivian's  arrival  to  give  herself  over  to  gloomy  conjec 
tures  as  to  the  future,  not  only  for  herself,  but  for 
the  man  she  loved  and  the  woman  she  worshipped  with 
something  of  the  fidelity  of  a  beaten  dog. 

Carroll  had  in  his  hand  the  second  telegram  from 
Smith,  just  received. 

"  This  relieves  the  situation  somewhat,"  he  observed, 
with  a  deep  sigh.  "  She's  dead,  and  she  didn't  give 
in,  thanks  to  Smith.  Rather  clever  of  him  to  get  a 
signed  statement,  however,  witnessed  by  the  prosecut 
ing  attorney  and  the  chief  of  police.  It  puts  an  end 
to  everything  so  far  as  she  is  concerned." 

"  Read  again,  Mr.  Carroll,  what  she  had  to  say 
about  me,"  said  Sara,  a  slight  tremour  of  emotion  in 
her  voice. 

He  read  from  the  lengthy  telegram :  "  '  She  wants 
me  to  thank  Mrs.  Wrandall  for  all  she  has  done  to 
make  her  last  few  months  happy  ones,  such  as  they 
were.  She  appreciates  her  kindness  all  the  more  be 
cause  she  realises  that  her  benefactress  must  have 
known  everything.  Almost  the  last  words  she  spoke 
were  in  the  nature  of  a  sort  of  prayer  that  God  would 


376          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

forgive  her  for  what  she  had  done  to  Mrs.  Wran- 
dall.'  " 

"  Poor  girl !  She  could  not  have  known  that  it  was 
justice,  not  sentiment  that  moved  me  to  provide  for 
her,"  said  Sara. 

"  Well,  she  is  off  our  minds,  at  any  rate,"  said  the 
matter-of-fact  lawyer.  "  Now  are  you  both  willing 
to  give  serious  consideration  to  the  plan  I  propose? 
Take  time  to  think  it  over.  No  harm  will  come  to 
Miss  Castleton,  I  am  confident.  There  will  be  a  nine 
days'  sensation,  but,  after  all,  it  is  the  best  thing  for 
everybody.  You  propose  living  abroad,  Booth,  so 
what  are  the  odds  if — " 

"  I  shan't  live  abroad  unless  Hetty  reconsiders  her 
decision  to  not  marry  me,"  said  the  young  man  dis 
mally.  "  'Gad,  Sara,  you  must  convince  her  that  I 
love  her  better  than  — " 

"  I  think  she  knows  all  that,  Brandon.  As  I  said 
before,  wait!  And  now,  Mr.  Carroll,  I  have  this  to 
say  to  your  suggestion:  I  for  one  am  relentlessly  op 
posed  to  the  plan  you  advocate.  There  is  no  occasion 
for  this  matter  to  go  to  the  public.  A  trial,  you  say, 
would  be  a  mere  formality.  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that. 
Why  put  poor  Hetty's  head  in  the  lion's  mouth  at  this 
late  stage,  after  I  have  protected  her  so  carefully  all 
these  months?  Why  take  the  risk?  We  know  she  is 
innocent.  Isn't  it  enough  that  we  acquit  her  in  our 
hearts?  No,  I  cannot  consent,  and  I  hold  both  of  you 
to  your  promises." 

"  There  is  nothing  more  I  can  say,  my  dear  Sara," 
said  Carroll,  shaking  his  head  gloomily,  "  except  to 
urge  you  to  think  it  over  very  seriously.  Remember, 
it  may  mean  a  great  deal  to  her  —  and  to  our  eager 
young  friend  here.  Years  from  now,  like  a  bolt  from 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND          377 

the  sky,  the  truth  may  come  out  in  some  way.  Think 
of  what  it  would  mean  then." 

Sara  regarded  him  steadily.  "  There  are  but  four 
people  who  know  the  truth,"  she  said  slowly.  "  It 
isn't  likely  that  Hetty  or  Brandon  will  tell  the  story. 
Professional  honour  forbids  your  doing  so.  That 
leaves  me  as  the  sole  peril.  Is  that  what  you  would 
imply,  my  dear  friend?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  cried  hastily,  "  not  at  all.     I  — " 

"  That's  all  tommy-rot,  Sara,"  cried  Booth  ear 
nestly.  "  We  just  couldn't  have  anything  to  fear 
from  you." 

With  curious  inconsistency,  she  shook  her  head  and 
remarked :  "  Of  course,  you  never  could  be  quite  easy 
in  your  minds.  There  would  always  be  the  feeling  of 
unrest.  Am  I  to  be  trusted,  after  all?  I  have  proved 
myself  to  be  a  vindictive  schemer.  What  assurance 
can  you  and  Hetty  have  that  I  will  not  turn  against 
one  or  the  other  of  you  some  time  and  crush  you  to  sat 
isfy  a  personal  grievance?  How  do  you  know,  Bran 
don,  that  I  am  not  in  love  with  you  at  this  very  — " 

"  Good  heavens,  Sara !  "  he  cried,  agape. 

" — at  this  very  moment?"  she  continued.  "It 
would  not  be  so  very  strange,  would  it?  I  am  very 
human.  The  power  to  love  is  not  denied  me.  Oh,  I 
am  merely  philosophising.  Don't  look  so  serious. 
We  will  suppose  that  I  continued  along  my  career  as 
the  woman  scorned.  You  have  seen  how  I  smart  un 
der  the  lash.  Well?" 

"  But  all  that  is  impossible,"  said  Booth,  his  face 
clearing.  "  You're  not  in  love  with  me,  and  never 
can  be.  That !  for  your  philosophy !  " 

At  the  same  instant  he  became  aware  of  the  singu 
lar  gleam  in  her  eyes ;  a  liquid,  Oriental  glow  that 


378          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

seemed  to  reflect  light  on  her  lower  lids  as  she  sat 
there  with  her  face  in  the  shadow.  Once  or  twice  be 
fore  he  had  been  conscious  of  the  mysterious,  seductive 
appeal.  He  stared  back  at  her,  almost  defensively, 
but  her  gaze  did  not  waver.  It  was  he  who  first  looked 
away,  curiously  uncomfortable. 

"  Still,"  she  said  slowly,  "  I  think  you  would  be  wise 
to  consider  all  possible  contingencies." 

"  I'll  take  chances,  Sara,"  he  said,  with  an  odd 
buoyancy  in  his  voice  that,  for  the  life  of  him,  he  could 
not  explain,  even  to  himself. 

"  Even  admitting  that  such  should  turn  out  to  be 
the  case,"  said  Mr.  Carroll  judicially,  "  I  don't  believe 
you'd  go  so  far  as  to  put  your  loyal  friends  in 
jeopardy,  Sara.  So  we  will  dismiss  the  thought. 
Don't  forget,  however,  that  you  hold  them  in  the  hol 
low  of  your  hand.  My  original  contention  was  based 
on  the  time-honoured  saying,  '  murder  will  out.'  We 
never  can  tell  what  may  turn  up.  The  best  laid 
plans  of  men  and  mice  oft  — " 

Sara  settled  back  among  the  cushions  with  a  per 
emptory  wave  of  her  hand.  The  loose,  flowing  sleeve 
fell  away,  revealing  her  white,  exquisitely  modelled  arm 
almost  to  the  shoulder.  For  some  strange,  unaccount 
able  reason  Booth's  eyes  fell. 

"  I  am  tired,  wretchedly  tired.  It  has  been  a  most 
exhausting  day,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  note  of  weari 
ness  in  her  voice.  Both  men  started  up  apologetically. 
"  I  will  think  seriously  of  your  plan,  Mr.  Carroll. 
There  is  no  hurry,  I'm  sure.  Please  send  Miss  Wran- 
dall  in  to  me,  will  you?  Perhaps  you  would  better  tell 
Hetty  to  come  in  as  soon  as  Vivian  leaves.  Come  back 
to-morrow  afternoon,  Brandon.  I  shall  be  much  more 
cheerful.  By  the  way,  have  you  noticed  that  Dicky., 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND          379 

out  in  the  library,  has  been  singing  all  afternoon  as 
if  his  little  throat  would  split?  It  is  very  curious,  but 
to-day  is  the  first  time  he  has  uttered  a  note  in  nearly 
five  months.  Just  listen  to  him!  He  is  fairly  riotous 
with  song." 

Booth  leaned  over  and  kissed  the  hand  she  lifted  to 
him.  "  He  is  like  the  rest  of  us,  Sara,  inordinately 
happy."  A  slight  shiver  ran  through  her  arm.  He 
felt  it. 

"  I  am  so  afraid  his  exuberance  of  spirit  may  annoy 
Vivian,"  said  she,  with  a  rare  smile.  "  She  detests 
vulgarity." 

The  men  departed.  She  lay  back  in  the  chaise- 
longue,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  hand  he  had  touched  with 
his  lips. 

Watson  tapped  twice  on  the  door. 

"  Miss  Wrandall  could  not  wait,  ma'am,"  he  said, 
opening  the  door  softly.  "  She  will  call  again  to 
morrow." 

"  Thank  you,  Watson.  Will  you  hand  me  the 
cigarettes?  " 

Watson   hesitated.     "The    cigarettes,   ma'am?" 

"  Yes." 

"  But  the  doctor's  orders,  ma'am,  begging  your  par 
don  for  — " 

"  I  have  a  new  doctor,  Watson." 

"  I  beg  pardon,  ma'am !  " 

"  The  celebrated  Dr.  Folly,"  she  said  lightly. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

SARA  WRANDALL'S  DECISION 

WHEN  Smith  returned  from  the  Far  West,  a  few  days 
after  the  events  narrated  in  the  foregoing  chapter,  he 
repaired  at  once  to  Sara's  apartment,  bringing  with 
him  not  only  the  signed  statement  of  the  Ashtley  girl, 
but  the  well-worn  and  apparently  cherished  prayer- 
book  that  had  been  her  solace  during  the  last  few 
months  of  her  life.  On  the  fly-leaf  she  had  written: 
"  I  have  nothing  of  God's  earthly  gifts  to  leave  be 
hind  but  this.  It  has  brought  me  riches,  but  it  is  a 
poor  thing  in  itself.  I  bequeath  it,  my  only  earthly 
possession,  to  the  kind  and  merciful  one  who  taught 
me  that  there  is  good  in  this  bad  world  of  ours."  It 
was  inscribed  to  "  Mrs.  Challis  Wrandall." 

"  She  made  me  promise  to  give  it  to  you  with  my 
own  hands,  Mrs.  Wrandall,"  said  Smith,  in  the  library, 
putting  as  much  emotion  into  his  voice  and  manner 
as  he  thought  the  occasion  and  the  audience  demanded. 
Miss  Castleton  and  Mr.  Booth  were  also  present. 
"  She  was  a  queer  girl.  I  never  saw  one  just  like  her, 
believe  me.  Just  after  she  signed  that  paper,  I  had  a 
chance  to  be  alone  with  her  for  a  minute  or  two.  She 
asked  me  to  stoop  over  so's  I  could  hear  what  she  had 
to  say,  and  she  made  me  promise  not  to  say  a  word 
about  it  until  after  she  was  gone.  Well,  it  will  sur 
prise  you  just  as  much  as  it  did  me,  what  she  had  to 
say  with  her  dying  breath,  so  to  speak."  He  paused 
for  the  effect. 

"  What  did  she  say  to  you  ?  "  demanded  Sara. 

"  Well,   sir,   do  you  know  that  that   girl  knew  all 

380 


SARA  WRANDALL'S  DECISION          381 

along  who  it  was  that  went  up  to  Burton's  Inn  that 
evening  with  your  husband?  What  do  you  think  of 
that?  " 

There  was  not  a  sound  in  the  room.  Even  the  coals 
in  the  fireplace  seemed  to  take  that  instant  to  hush 
their  blithe  crackling.  Smith's  listeners  might  have 
been  absolutely  breathless,  they  were  so  rigid.  Each 
had  the  grotesque  fear  that  he  was  about  to  point  his 
finger  at  Hetty  Glynn  and  call  upon  her  to  answer  to 
an  accusation  from  the  grave. 

The  next  moment  they  drew  a  deep,  quivering  breath 
of  relief.  The  detective  went  on,  almost  apologet 
ically.  "  I  tried  to  bluff  her  into  telling  me  who  she 
was,  Mrs.  Wrandall,  but  she  wouldn't  fall  for  it. 
After  a  little  while,  I  saw  it  was  no  use  questioning 
her.  She  was  as  firm  as  a  rock  about  it.  And  she 
was  pretty  near  gone,  I  can  tell  you.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  her  heart  went  back  on  her  suddenly  not  ten 
minutes  later,  sort  of  surprising  all  of  us.  But  she 
did  manage  to  whisper  a  few  things  to  me  while  the 
others  were  conversing  in  the  hall.  She  said  that  she 
saw  another  girl  with  Mr.  Wrandall  about  a  week 
before  the  murder,  a  stranger  and  a  very  pretty  one. 
He  knew  how  to  pick  out  the  pretty  —  I  —  I  beg  your 
pardon,  ma'am.  That  sort  of  slipped  out.  You 
see  — " 

"  Never  mind.     I  understand.     Go  on." 

"  Right  after  that  he  told  her  he  was  through  with 
her.  Chucked  her,  that's  the  sum  and  substance  of  it, 
for  the  new  one,  whoever  she  was.  She  raised  a  row 
with  him  about  it,  and  he  laughed  at  her.  For  nearly 
a  week  she  spied  on  him,  and  she  saw  him  out  in  the 
car  with  the  stranger  at  least  half  a  dozen  times. 
Now  comes  the  queer  part  of  it,  and  the  thing  that 


382          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

made  her  keep  her  lips  closed  at  first,  right  after  the 
killing  —  the  murder,  I  mean.  She  laid  for  him  in 
front  of  his  home  on  the  very  day  of  the  murder  and 
swore  she'd  do  something  desperate  if  he  didn't  give 
the  other  one  up.  He  took  her  to  a  cheap  restaurant 
•on  the  West  Side,  and  she  was  sure  that  several  waiters 
saw  that  they  were  quarrelling.  To  get  her  out  of 
the  place,  he  induced  her  to  get  in  his  car  and  they 
•went  for  a  ride  out  as  far  as  Van  Courtlandt  Park. 
The  police  never  got  onto  all  this.  But  she  lived  in 
terror  for  a  few  days,  believing  that  the  waiters  might 
remember  them,  although  neither  of  them  had  ever 
been  in  the  place  before.  When  she  was  taken  up  for 
examination,  she  still  wondered  if  they  would  be  called 
on  to  identify  her.  Nothing  doing.  It  was  right 
then,  Mrs.  Wrandall,  that  you  stepped  in  and  said 
that  her  alibi  was  sufficient,  and  staked  her  for  life 
out  there  in  the  West.  She  says  she  saw  the  other 
girl  after  the  murder,  but  she  wouldn't  say  where  it 
was  or  when.  Of  course,  she  couldn't  swear  that  this 
girl  did  the  job  up  there  at  Burton's,  but  she  was 
pretty  nearly  dead  certain  she  was  the  one  who  went 
up  there  with  him.  She  was  just  on  the  point  of  tell 
ing  the  police  about  this  girl,  to  save  herself,  when  you 
helped  her  out  of  the  fix,  and  then  she  got  to  thinking 
strange  things,  she  said.  This  is  what  she  said  to  me, 
there  on  her  death-bed,  and  I  want  to  tell  you  it  gave 
me  an  idea  of  character  that  I  had  never  come  across 
before  in  all  my  experience.  She  said  that  if  Mrs. 
Wrandall  here  could  be  fine  enough  to  befriend  her, 
knowing  all  you  did,  ma'am,  about  her  and  your  hus 
band,  it  oughtn't  to  be  hard  for  her  to  help  another 
erring  girl  by  keeping  her  mouth  shut.  And  that's 
just  what  she  did.  She  kept  still.  That  sort  of  rea- 


SARA  WRANDALL'S  DECISION          383 

sorting  was  new  to  me.  But,  when  you  stop  to  think 
it  over,  maybe  she  was  right.  A  word  from  her  might 
have  sent  a  fellow  creature  to  the  chair.  She  had  had 
her  lesson  in  charity  from  you,  Mrs.  Wrandall,  and, 
while  you  didn't  mean  it  to  have  that  effect,  you  un 
doubtedly  spoiled  the  best  chance  we'll  ever  have  to 
get  the  real  woman  in  the  case." 

There  was  a  moment  of  tense  silence.  Booth  was 
the  first  to  risk  the  effort  at  speech. 

"  And  she  wouldn't  say  a  word  more?  She  gave 
you  no  —  no  clue?" 

"  Not  the  faintest  idea,  sir.  She  took  that  girl's 
name  to  the  grave  with  her." 

"Her  name!  She  knew  her  name?"  cried  Sara, 
leaning  forward. 

"  She  heard  it  a  day  or  two  after  you  had  her  set 
free,  Mrs.  Wrandall.  Don't  it  beat  all?  Now,  don't 
you  see  what  might  have  happened  if  we'd  let  the  po 
lice  put  the  screws  on  her  out  there?  Why,  the 
chances  are,  a  hundred  to  one,  she  would  have  broken 
down  in  the  end,  and  told  who  this  other  woman  is. 
There  is  where  we  made  a  fatal  mistake.  But  it's  too 
late  now,  confound  it." 

"  Yes,  it's  too  late  now,"  said  Sara,  relaxing  in  her 
chair. 

"  I'm  telling  you  this,  although  maybe  I  wasn't  ex 
pected  to.  She  made  me  promise  not  to  tell  the  police. 
Well,  I  guess  I  can  keep  that  promise.  You  ain't  the 
police." 

"  It  is  a  most  remarkable  story,  Mr.  Smith,"  said 
Sara,  "  but  I  do  not  see  that  it  leads  us  anywhere. 
We  are  quite  as  much  in  the  dark  as  before." 

The  detective  studied  the  pattern  in  the  rug  at  his 
feet,  a  defeated  look  in  his  eyes. 


384          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  I  suppose  I  might  have  forced  her  to  tell  me,  Mrs. 
Wrandall,  but  I  —  I  didn't  have  the  heart  to  bully 
her.  I  suppose  you'll  always  have  it  in  for  me  for  let 
ting  the  chance  slip  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  have  already  told  you,  Mr.  Smith,  that  I. 
am  not  at  all  curious." 

With  the  departure  of  the  detective,  the  three  con 
spirators  fell  into  an  agitated  discussion  of  the  reve 
lations  he  had  made ;  so  grave  had  their  peril  appeared 
to  be  at  the  opening  of  his  narrative  that  they  were 
still  in  a  state  of  perturbation  from  which  they  were 
not  to  recover  for  a  long  time.  Their  cheeks  were 
white  and  their  eyes  were  dark  with  the  dread  that 
remained  even  after  the  danger  was  past.  Hetty's 
arms  hung  limp  and  nerveless  at  her  sides  as  she  lay 
back  in  the  chair  and  stared  numbly  at  her  friends. 

"  Do  you  really  believe  she  knew  that  I  was  the 
one?"  she  asked  miserably.  "Do  you  think  she  knew 
my  name?  "  she  shuddered. 

"What  if  she  did?"  demanded  Booth  with  an  as 
sumption  of  indifference  he  was  not  yet  able  to  feel. 
"  She  was  a  brick  to  keep  it  to  herself.  The  danger's 
past,  dearest.  Don't  let  it  worry  you  now." 

"  But  just  think  of  it!  At  any  time  she  could  have 
told  this  story  to  the  police  and  —  Oh,  wasn't  it 
appalling?  I  thought  my  heart  would  never  beat 
again ! " 

"  We  never  knew  till  now  how  close  we  were  to  the 
abyss,"  said  Sara,  drawing  the  thin  wrap  closer  about 
her  shoulders.  Suddenly  she  laughed.  "  But  why 
contemplate  the  disaster  that  didn't  occur?  We  are 
more  secure  than  ever.  This  girl  was  the  only  one 
who  knew,  because  no  one  else  could  have  had  the  same 
incentive  to  spy  upon  him,  Hetty.  She  is  dead. 


SARA  WRANDALL'S  DECISION          385 

Your  name  isn't  likely  to  be  shouted  from  the  house 
tops,  for  the  simple  reason  that  it  is  safely  locked  up 
in  a  grave."  She  hesitated  for  a  moment  and  then 
added :  "  In  two  graves,  if  it  makes  you  feel  more  se 
cure." 

The  others  looked  at  her  in  open  astonishment. 

Booth  was  frowning.  Sara  glanced  at  his  stern 
face  and  her  eyes  fell.  "  If  that  sounded  cold  and  un 
feeling,  I  am  sorry,  Hetty.  It  was  my  unfortunate 
way  of  trying  to  convince  you  that  there  is  nothing 
left  for  you  to  fear." 

She  left  them  a  moment  later,  bending  over  to  kiss 
Hetty's  cheek  as  she  passed  by  her  chair. 

"  Now,  you  see  what  I  mean,  Brandon,  when  I  in 
sist  that  it  would  be  a  mistake  for  you  to  marry  me,'* 
said  Hetty  in  a  troubled  voice.  "  We  could  never  be 
sure  of  immunity." 

"  You  refer  to  that  remark  of  hers  ?  " 

"  She  is  a  strange  woman.  I  sometimes  have  the 
feeling  that  she  wants  to  keep  me  with  her  for  ever.  I 
feel  that  she  will  not  let  me  go." 

"  That's  pure  nonsense,  Hetty,"  he  said.  "  She 
wants  you  to  marry  me,  I  am  positive."  He  may 
have  thought  his  tone  convincing,  but  something 
caused  her  to  regard  him  rather  fixedly,  as  if  she  were 
trying  to  solve  an  elusive  puzzle. 

He  took  her  by  the  arms  and  raised  her  to  her  feet. 
Holding  her  quite  close,  he  looked  down  into  her  ques 
tioning  eyes  and  said  very  seriously: 

"  You  are  suspicious,  even  of  me,  dearest.  I  want 
you.  There  is  but  one  way  for  you  to  be  at  peace 
with  yourself:  shift  your  cares  over  to  my  shoulders. 
I  will  stand  between  you  and  everything  that  may 
come  up  to  trouble  you.  We  love  one  another.  Why 


686          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

should  we  sacrifice  our  love  for  the  sake  of  a  shadow? 
For  a  week,  dearest,  I've  been  pleading  with  you ; 
won't  you  end  the  suspense  to-day  —  end  it  now  — 
and  say  you  will  be  my  wife?  " 

The  appeal  was  so  gentle,  so  sincere,  so  full  of  long 
ing  that  she  wavered.  Her  tender  blue  eyes,  lately 
so  full  of  dread,  grew  moist  with  the  ineffable  sweet 
ness  of  love,  and  capitulation  was  in  them.  Her 
warm,  red  lips  parted  in  a  dear  little  smile  of  surren 
der. 

"  You  know  I  love  you,"  she  said  tremulously. 

He  kissed  the  lovely,  appealing  lips,  not  once  but 
many  times. 

"  God,  how  I  worship  you,"  he  whispered  passion 
ately.  "  I  can't  go  on  without  you,  darling.  You 
are  life  to  me.  I  love  you !  I  love  you !  " 

She  drew  back  in  his  arms,  the  shadow  chasing  the 
light  out  of  her  eyes. 

"  We  are  both  living  in  the  present,  we  are  both 
thinking  only  of  it,  Brandon.  What  of  the  future? 
Can  we  foresee  the  future?  Dear  heart,  I  am  always 
thinking  of  your  future,  not  my  own.  Is  it  right  for 
me  to  bring  you — " 

"  And  I  am  thinking  only  of  your  future,"  he  said 
gravely.  "  The  future  that  shall  be  mine  to  shape 
and  to  make  glad  with  the  fulfilment  of  every  promise 
that  love  has  in  store  for  both  of  us.  Put  away  the 
doubts,  drive  out  the  shadows,  dearest.  Live  in  the 
light  for  ever.  Love  is  light." 

"  If  I  were  only  sure  that  my  shadows  would  not 
descend  upon  you,  I  — " 

He  drew  her  close  and  kissed  her  again. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  your  shadows.  God  be  my  wit 
ness,  Hetty,  I  glory  in  them.  They  do  not  reflect 


SARA  WRANDALL'S  DECISION          387 

weakness,  but  strength  and  nobility.  They  make  you 
all  the  more  worth  having.  I  thank  God  that  you 
are  what  you  are,  dear  heart." 

"  Give  me  a  few  days  longer,  Brandon,"  she  pleaded, 
"  Let  me  conquer  this  strange  thing  that  lies  here  in 
my  brain.  My  heart  is  yours,  my  soul  is  yours. 
But  the  brain  is  a  rebel.  I  must  triumph  over  it,  or 
it  will  always  lie  in  wait  for  a  chance  to  overthrow 
this  little  kingdom  of  ours.  To-day  I  have  been  terri 
fied.  I  am  disturbed.  Give  me  a  few  days  longer." 

"  I  would  not  grant  you  the  respite,  were  I  not  so 
sure  of  the  outcome,"  he  said  gently,  but  there  was  a 
thrill  of  triumph  in  the  tones.  Her  eyes  grew  very 
dark  and  soft  and  her  lips  trembled  with  the  tide  of 
love  that  surged  through  her  body.  "  Oh,  how  ador 
able  you  are !  "  he  cried,  straining  her  close  in  a  sud 
den  ecstasy  of  passion. 

The  door-bell  rang.  They  drew  apart,  breathing 
rapidly,  their  blood  leaping  with  the  contact  of  op 
posing  passions,  their  flesh  quivering.  With  a  shy, 
sweet  glance  at  him,  she  turned  toward  the  door  to 
await  the  appearance  of  Watson.  He  could  still  feel 
her  in  his  arms. 

A  drawling  voice  came  to  them  from  the  vestibule, 
and  a  moment  later  Leslie  Wrandall  entered  the  li 
brary,  pulling  off  his  gloves  as  he  came. 

"  Hello,"  he  said  glibly.  "  I  told  that  fellow  down 
stairs  it  wasn't  necessary  to  announce  me  by  tele 
phone.  Silly  arrangement,  I  say.  Why  the  devil 
should  they  think  everybody's  a  thief  or  a  book  agent 
or  a  constable  with  a  subpoena?  He  knows  I'm  one 
of  the  family.  I'm  likely  to  run  in  any  time,  I  told 
him,  and  —  Oh,  I  say,  I'm  not  butting  in,  am  I,  Miss 
Castleton?" 


388          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

He  shook  hands  with  both  of  them,  and  then  offered 
his  cigarette  case  to  Booth,  first  selecting  one  for  him 
self.  Hetty  assured  him  that  he  was  not  de  trop, 
sheer  profligacy  on  her  part  in  view  of  his  readiness 
to  concede  the  point  without  a  word  from  her. 

"  Nipping  wind,"  he  said,  taking  his  stand  before 
the  fireplace.  "  Where  is  Sara  ?  Never  mind,  don't 
bother  her.  I've  got  all  the  time  in  the  world.  By 
the  way,  Miss  Castleton,  what  is  the  latest  news  from 
your  father?  " 

"  I  dare  say  you  have  later  news  than  I,"  she  said, 
a  trace  of  annoyance  in  her  manner. 

"  I  thought  perhaps  he  had  written  you  about  his 
plans." 

"  My  father  does  not  know  that  I  have  returned  to 
New  York." 

"  Oh,  I  see.  Of  course.  Um  —  um !  By  the  way, 
I  think  the  Colonel  is  a  corker.  One  of  the  most 
amiable  thoroughbreds  I've  ever  come  across.  Rip 
ping.  He's  never  said  anything  to  me  about  your  an 
tipathy  toward  him,  but  I  can  see  with  half  an  eye 
that  he  is  terribly  depressed  about  it.  Can't  you  get 
together  some  way  on  — " 

"  Really,  Mr.  Wrandall,  you  are  encouraging  your 
imagination  to  a  point  where  words  ultimately  must 
fail  you,"  she  said  very  positively.  Booth  could 
hardly  repress  a  chuckle. 

"  It's  not  imagination  on  my  part,"  said  Leslie  with 
conviction,  failing  utterly  to  recognise  the  obvious. 
"  I  suppose  you  know  that  he  is  coming  over  to  visit 
me  for  six  weeks  or  so.  We  became  rattling  good 
friends  before  we  parted.  By  Jove,  you  should  hear 
him  on  old  Lord  Murgatroyd's  will !  The  quintessence 
of  wit !  I  couldn't  take  it  as  he  does.  Expectations 


SARA  WRANDALL'S  DECISION          389 

and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know,  going  up  like  a 
hot  air  balloon  and  bursting  in  plain  view.  But  he 
never  squeaked.  Laughed  it  off.  A  British  attribute, 
I  dare  say.  I  suppose  you  know  that  he  is  obliged  to 
sell  his  estate  in  Ireland." 

Hetty  started.  She  could  not  conceal  the  look  of 
shame  that  leaped  into  her  eyes. 

"I  —  I  did  not  know,"  she  murmured. 

"  Must  be  quite  a  shock  to  you.  Sit  down,  Brandy. 
You  look  very  picturesque  standing,  but  chairs  were 
made  to  sit  upon  —  or  in,  whichever  is  proper." 

Booth  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  think  I'll  stand,  if  you  don't  mind,  Les." 

"  I  merely  suggested  it,  old  chap,  fearing  you  might 
have  overlooked  the  possibilities.  Yes,  Miss  Castle- 
ton,  he  left  us  in  London  to  go  up  to  Belfast  on  this 
dismal  business."  There  was  something  in  the  back 
of  his  mind  that  he  was  trying  to  get  at  in  a  tactful 
manner.  "  By  the  way,  is  this  property  entailed?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  at  all  about  it,  Mr.  Wrandall," 
said  she,  with  a  pleading  glance  at  her  lover,  as  if  to 
inquire  what  stand  she  should  take  in  this  distressing 
situation. 

"  If  it  is  entailed  he  can't  sell  it,"  said  Booth  quietly. 

"  That's  true,"  said  Leslie,  somewhat  dubiously. 
Then,  with  a  magnanimity  that  covered  a  multitude  of 
doubts  he  added:  "Of  course,  I  am  only  interested  in 
seeing  that  you  are  properly  protected,  Miss  Castle- 
ton.  I've  no  doubt  you  hold  an  interest  in  the  es 
tates." 

"  I  can't  very  well  discuss  a  thing  I  know  absolutely 
nothing  about,"  she  said  succinctly. 

"  Most  of  it  is  in  building  lots  and  factories  in  Bel 
fast,  of  course."  It  was  more  in  the  nature  of  a  ques- 


390          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

tion  than  a  declaration.  "  The  old  family  castle  isn't 
very  much  of  an  asset,  I  take  it." 

"  I  fancy  you  can  trust  Colonel  Castleton  to  make 
the  best  possible  deal  in  the  premises,"  said  Booth  drily. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  the  other  resignedly.  "  He 
is  a  shrewd  beggar,  I'm  convinced  of  that.  Strange, 
however,  that  I  haven't  heard  a  word  from  him  since 
he  left  us  in  London.  I've  been  expecting  a  cable 
gram  from  him  every  day  for  nearly  a  fortnight,  let 
ting  me  know  when  to  expect  him." 

Hetty  had  gone  over  to  the  window  and  was  looking 
out  over  the  darkening  park. 

"  Perhaps  he  means  to  surprise  you,  old  man,"  said 
Booth,  with  a  smile  that  Leslie  did  not  in  the  least  in 
terpret. 

With  a  furtive  glance  at  the  girl,  whose  back  was 
toward  them,  he  got  up  from  his  chair  and  came  quite 
close  to  Booth,  frowning  slightly  as  he  plucked  at  his 
moustache  with  nervous  fingers.  Lowering  his  voice  to 
a  cautious  half-whisper,  he  inquired : 

"I  say,  Brandy,  what  do  you  know  about  him?  Is 
he  on  the  level,  or  is  he  a  damned  old  rascal?  " 

"  Did  you  lend  him  any  money?  "  asked  Booth,  with 
a  malicious  grin. 

Leslie  gulped.  A  fine  perspiration  broke  out  on  his 
forehead.  "  Yes,  I  did,"  he  replied,  and,  on  reflection, 
slyly  kicked  himself  on  the  ankle,  making  sure  how 
ever  that  Hetty  was  still  looking  the  other  way. 
"Go  on!  Break  it  rudely.  He's  no  good,  eh?  A 
shark,  eh?  " 

"  Believe  me,  I  don't  know  anything  about  him, 
Les,"  said  Booth,  with  a  sudden  feeling  of  loyalty  to 
the  Colonel's  daughter.  "  He  may  pay  up." 

Leslie  snapped  his  fingers   while   they   were   on  the 


SARA  WRANDALL'S  DECISION          391 

way  to  his  upper  lip,  and  almost  missed  his  moustache 
by  the  digression.  At  any  rate,  he  seemed  to  be  fum 
bling  for  it. 

"  I  did  it  on  her  account,"  he  explained,  nodding  his 
head  in  Hetty's  direction.  He  thought  hard  for  a 
moment.  "  Of  course,  he  won't  be  such  a  blithering 
fool  as  to  come  over  here,  will  he?  " 

"  I  shouldn't,  if  I  had  been  able  to  get  what  I  wanted 
at  home,  as  he  very  obviously  did,"  said  Booth  piti 
lessly.  "How  much  was  it?" 

Leslie  waved  his  hand  disdainfully.  "  Oh,  a  few 
hundred  pounds,  that's  all.  No  harm  done." 

"  Are  you  going  to  California  this  winter  for  the 
flying?  "  asked  Hetty,  coming  toward  them. 

Sara  entered  at  that  juncture,  and  they  all  sat  down 
to  listen  for  half  an  hour  to  Leslie's  harangue  on  the 
way  the  California  meet  was  being  mismanaged,  at  the 
end  of  which  he  departed. 

He  took  Booth  away  with  him,  much  to  that  young 
man's  disgust. 

"  Do  you  know,  Brandy,  old  fellow,"  said  he  as  they 
walked  down  Fifth  Avenue  in  the  gathering  dusk  of  the 
early  winter  evening,  "  ever  since  I've  begun  to  sus 
pect  that  damned  old  humbug  of  a  father  of  hers,  I've 
been  congratulating  myself  that  there  isn't  the  remot 
est  chance  of  his  ever  becoming  my  father-in-law. 
And,  by  George,  you'll  never  know  how  near  I  was  to 
leaping  blindly  into  the  brambles.  What  a  close  call 
I  had !  " 

Booth's  sarcastic  smile  was  hidden  by  the  dusk.  He 
made  no  pretence  of  openly  resenting  the  meanness  of 
spirit  that  moved  Leslie  to  these  caddish  remarks.  He 
merely  announced  in  a  dry,  cutting  voice : 

"  I  think  Miss  Castleton  is  to  be  congratulated  that 


392          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

her  injury  is  no  greater  than  Nature  made  it  in  the 
beginning." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  nature  '  ?  " 

"  Nature  gave  her  a  father,  didn't  it  ?  " 

"  Obviously." 

"Well,  why  add  insult  to  injury?" 

"  By  Jove !     Oh,  I  say,  old  man !  " 

They  parted  at  the  next  corner.  As  Booth  started 
to  cross  over  to  the  Plaza,  Leslie  called  out  after  him: 

"I  say,  Brandy,  just  a  second,  please.  Are  you 
going  to  marry  Miss  Castleton?  " 

"  I  am." 

"  Then,  I  retract  the  scurvy  things  I  said  back 
there.  I  asked  her  to  marry  me  three  times  and  she 
refused  me  three  times.  What  I  said  about  the  bram 
bles  was  rotten.  I'd  ask  her  again  if  I  thought  she'd 
have  me.  There  you  are,  old  fellow.  I'm  a  rotten 
cad,  but  I  apologise  to  you  just  the  same." 

"  You're  learning,  Leslie,"  said  Booth,  taking  the 
hand  the  other  held  out  to  him. 

While  the  painter  was  dining  at  his  club  later  on 
in  the  evening,  he  was  called  to  the  telephone.  Watson 
was  on  the  wire.  He  said  that  Mrs.  Wrandall  would 
like  to  know  if  Mr.  Booth  could  drop  in  on  her  for  a 
few  minutes  after  dinner,  "  to  discuss  a  very  important 
matter,  if  you  please,  sir."  At  nine  o'clock,  Booth 
was  in  Sara's  library,  trying  to  grasp  a  new  and  re 
markable  phase  in  the  character  of  that  amazing 
woman. 

He  found  Hetty  waiting  for  him  when  he  arrived. 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  all  means,  Brandon,"  she 
said  hurriedly,  looking  over  her  shoulder  as  she  spoke. 
*'  Sara  says  that  she  has  come  to  a  decision  of  some 
sort.  She  wants  us  to  hear  her  plan  before  making 


SARA  WRANDALL'S  DECISION          393 

it  final.     I  —  I  don't  understand  her  at  all  to-night." 

"  It  can't  be  anything  serious,  dearest,"  he  said,  but 
something  cold  and  nameless  oppressed  him  just  the 
same. 

"  She  asked  me  if  I  had  finally  decided  to  —  to  be 
your  wife,  Brandon.  I  said  I  had  asked  you  for  two 
or  three  days  more  in  which  to  decide.  It  seemed  to 
depress  her.  She  said  she  didn't  see  how  she  could 
give  me  up,  even  to  you.  She  wants  to  be  near  me 
always.  It  is  —  it  is  really  tragic,  Brandon." 

He  took  he  hands  in  his. 

"  We  can  fix  that,"  said  he  confidently.  "  Sara 
can  live  with  us  if  she  feels  that  way  about  it.  Our 
home  shall  be  hers  when  she  likes,  and  as  long  as  she 
chooses.  It  will  be  open  to  her  all  the  time,  to  come 
and  go  or  to  stay,  just  as  she  elects.  Isn't  that  the 
way  to  put  it?  " 

"  I  suggested  something  of  the  sort,  but  she  wasn't 
very  much  impressed.  Indeed,  she  appeared  to  be 
somewhat  —  yes,  I  could  not  have  been  mistaken, — 
somewhat  harsh  and  terrified  when  I  spoke  of  it. 
Afterwards  she  was  more  reasonable.  She  thanked  me 
and  —  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes  at  the  time  —  and 
said  she  would  think  it  over.  All  she  asks  is  that  I 
may  be  happy  and  free  and  untroubled  all  the  rest  of 
my  life.  This  was  before  dinner.  At  dinner  she  ap 
peared  to  be  brooding  over  something.  When  we  left 
the  table  she  took  me  to  her  room  and  said  that  she 
had  come  to  an  important  decision.  Then  s.he  in 
structed  Watson  to  find  you  if  possible." 

"  'Gad,  it's  all  very  upsetting,"  he  said,  shaking  his 
head. 

"  I  think  her  conscience  is  troubling  her.  She  hates 
the  Wrandalls,  but  I  —  I  don't  know  why  I  should 


394          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

feel  as  I  do  about  it, —  but  I  believe  she  wants  them 
to  know ! " 

He  stared  for  a  moment,  and  then  his  face  bright 
ened.  "  And  so  do  I,  Hetty,  so  do  I !  They  ought 
to  know ! " 

"  I  should  feel  so  much  easier  if  the  whole  world 
knew,"  said  she  earnestly. 

Sara  heard  the  girl's  words  as  she  stood  in  the  door* 
She  came  forward  with  a  strange, — •  even  abashed, — 
smile,  after  closing  the  door  behind  her. 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,  dearest,  when  you  say  that 
the  world  should  know,  but  I  have  come  to  the  con 
clusion  that  you  should  be  tried  and  acquitted  by  a 
jury  made  up  of  Challis  Wrandall's  own  flesh  and 
blood.  The  Wrandalls  must  know  the  truth." 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

THE    JURY    OF    FOUR 

THE  Wrandalls  sat  waiting  and  wondering.  They 
had  been  sent  for  and  they  had  deigned  to  respond, 
much  to  their  own  surprise.  Redmond  Wrandall  oc 
cupied  a  place  at  the  head  of  the  library  table.  At 
his  right  sat  his  wife.  Vivian  and  Leslie,  by  direc 
tion,  took  seats  at  the  side  of  the  long  table,  which 
had  been  cleared  of  its  mass  of  books  and  magazines. 
Lawyer  Carroll  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  per 
ceptibly  nervous  and  anxious.  Hetty  sat  a  little  apart 
from  the  others,  a  rather  forlorn,  detached  member 
of  the  conclave.  Brandon  Booth,  pale-faced  and 
alert,  drew  up  a  chair  alongside  Carroll,  facing  Sara 
who  alone  remained  standing,  directly  opposite  the  four 
Wrandalls. 

Not  one  of  the  Wrandalls  knew  why  they,  as  a 
family,  were  there.  They  had  not  the  slightest  pre 
monition  of  what  was  to  come. 

The  strong  glare  of  an  electric  chandelier,  seldom 
used  in  this  quiet,  subdued  little  library,  threw  its 
light  down  upon  the  group,  outlining  every  feature 
with  a  sharpness  that  almost  created  shadows.  It  was 
a  trying  light.  No  play  of  the  emotions  could  be  lost 
under  its  convicting  glow.  A  clock  struck  nine.  Out 
side  the  first  savage  storm  of  the  winter  was  raging. 

The  Wrandalls  had  been  routed  from  their  comfort 
able  fireside  —  for  what  ?  They  were  asking  the  ques 
tion  of  themselves  and  they  were  waiting  stonily  for  the 
answer. 

"  It  is  very   stuffy  in  here,"  Vivian  had  said  with 

395 


396          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

a  glance  at  the  closed  doors  after  Sara  had  success 
fully  placed  her  jury  in  the  box. 

"  Keep  still,  Viv,"  whispered  Leslie,  with  a  fine  as 
sumption  of  awe.  "  It's  a  spiritualistic  meeting. 
You'll  scare  the  spooks  away." 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  Sara  rose  from  her 
chair  and  faced  them,  as  calmly,  as  complacently  as 
if  she  were  about  to  ask  them  to  proceed  to  the  dining- 
room  instead  of  to  throw  a  bomb  into  their  midst  that 
would  shatter  their  smug  serenity  for  all  time  to  come. 
With  a  glance  at  Mr.  Carroll  she  began,  clearly,  firmly 
and  without  a  prefatory  apology  for  what  was  to 
follow. 

"  I  have  asked  you  to  come  here  to-night  to  be  my 
judges.  I  am  on  trial.  You  are  about  to  hear  the 
story  of  my  unspeakable  perfidy.  I  only  require  of 
you  that  you  hear  me  to  the  end  before  passing  judg 
ment." 

At  her  words,  Hetty  and  Booth  started  perceptibly ; 
a  quick  glance  passed  between  them,  as  if  each  was  in 
quiring  whether  the  other  had  caught  the  extraordi 
nary  words  of  self-indictment.  A  puzzled  frown  ap 
peared  on  Hetty's  brow. 

"  Perfidy  ?  "  interposed  Mr.  Wrandall.  His  wife's 
expression  changed  from  one  of  bored  indifference  to 
sharp  inquiry.  Leslie  paused  in  the  act  of  lighting 
a  cigarette. 

"  It  is  the  mildest  term  I  can  command,"  said  Sara. 
"  I  shall  be  as  brief  as  possible  in  stating  the  case,  Mr. 
Wrandall.  You  will  be  surprised  to  hear  that  I  have 
taken  it  upon  myself,  as  the  wife  of  Challis  Wrandall 
and,  as  I  regard  it,  the  one  most  vitally  concerned  if 
not  interested  in  the  discovery  and  punishment  of  the 
person  who  took  his  life, —  I  say  I  have  taken  it  upon 


THE  JURY  OF  FOUR  39T 

myself  to  shield,  protect  and  defend  the  unhappy 
young  woman  who  accompanied  him  to  Burton's  Inn 
on  that  night  in  March.  She  has  had  my  constant, 
my  personal  protection  for  more  than  twenty  months." 

The  Wrandalls  leaned  forward  in  their  chairs. 
The  match  burned  Leslie's  fingers,  and  he  dropped  it 
without  appearing  to  notice  the  pain. 

"What  is  this  you  are  saying?"  demanded  Red 
mond  Wrandall. 

"  When  I  left  the  inn  that  night,  after  seeing  my 
husband's  body  in  the  little  upstairs  room,  I  said  to 
myself  that  the  one  who  took  his  life  had  unwittingly 
done  me  a  service.  He  was  my  husband;  I  loved  him, 
I  adored  him.  To  the  end  of  my  days  I  could  have 
gone  on  loving  him  in  spite  of  the  cruel  return  he  gave 
for  my  love  and  loyalty.  I  shall  not  attempt  to  tell 
you  of  the  countless  lapses  of  fidelity  on  his  part.  You 
would  not  believe  me.  But  he  always  came  back  to 
me  with  the  pitiful  love  he  had  for  me,  and  I  forgave 
him  his  transgressions.  These  things  you  know.  He 
confessed  many  things  to  you,  Mr.  Wrandall.  He 
humbled  himself  to  me.  Perhaps  you  will  recall  that 
I  never  complained  to  you  of  him.  What  rancour  I 
had  was  always  directed  toward  you,  his  family,  who 
would  see  no  wrong  in  your  king  but  looked  upon  me 
as  dirt  beneath  his  feet.  There  were  moments  when  I 
could  have  slain  him  with  my  own  hands,  but  my  heart 
rebelled.  There  were  times  when  he  said  to  me  that  I 
ought  to  kill  him  for  the  things  he  had  done.  You 
may  now  understand  what  I  mean  when  I  say  that  the 
girl  who  went  to  Burton's  Inn  with  him  did  me  a  serv 
ice.  I  will  not  say  that  I  considered  her  guiltless  at 
the  time.  On  the  contrary,  I  looked  upon  her  in  quite 
a  different  way.  I  had  no  means  of  knowing  then 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

that  she  was  as  pure  as  snow  and  that  he  would  have 
despoiled  her  of  everything  that  was  sweet  and  sacred 
to  her.  She  took  his  life  in  order  to  save  that  which 
was  dearer  to  her  than  her  own  life,  and  she  was  on 
her  way  to  pay  for  her  deed  with  her  life  if  necessary 
when  I  came  upon  her  and  intervened." 

"  You  —  you  know  who  she  is  ?  "  said  Mr.  Wran- 
dall,  in  a  low,  incredulous  voice. 

"  I  have  known  almost  from  the  beginning.  Pres 
ently  you  will  hear  her  story,  from  her  own  lips." 

Involuntarily  four  pairs  of  eyes  shifted.  They 
looked  blankly  at  Hetty  Castleton. 

Speaking  swiftly,  Sara  depicted  the  scenes  and  sen 
sations  experienced  during  that  memorable  motor  jour 
ney  to  New  York  City. 

"  I  could  not  believe  that  she  was  a  vicious  creature, 
even  then.  Something  told  me  that  she  was  a  tender, 
gentle  thing  who  had  fallen  into  evil  hands  and  had 
struck  because  she  was  unevil.  I  did  not  doubt  that 
she  had  been  my  husband's  mistress,  but  I  could  not 
destroy  the  conviction  that  somehow  she  had  been  jus 
tified  in  doing  the  thing  she  had  done.  My  gravest 
mistake  was  in  refusing  to  hear  her  story  in  all  of  its 
details.  I  only  permitted  her  to  acknowledge  that  she 
had  killed  him,  no  more.  I  did  not  want  to  hear  the 
thing  which  I  assumed  to  be  true.  Therein  lies  my 
deepest  fault.  For  months  and  months  I  misjudged 
her  in  my  heart,  yet  secretly  loved  her.  Now  I  under 
stand  why  I  loved  her.  It  was  because  she  was  inno 
cent  of  the  only  crime  I  could  lay  at  her  feet.  Now 
I  come  to  the  crime  of  which  I  stand  self-accused.  I 
must  have  been  mad  all  these  months.  I  have  no  other 
defence  to  offer.  You  may  take  it  as  you  see  it  for 
yourselves.  I  do  not  ask  for  pardon.  After  I  de- 


THE  JURY  OF  FOUR  399 

liberately  had  set  about  to  shield  this  unhappy  girl, — • 
to  cheat  the  law,  if  you  please, —  to  cheat  you,  perhaps, 
—  I  conceived  the  horrible  thought  to  avenge  myself 
for  all  the  indignities  I  had  sustained  at  the  hands  of 
you  Wrandalls,  and  at  the  same  time  to  even  my  ac 
count  with  the  one  woman  whom  I  could  put  my  finger 
upon  as  having  robbed  me  of  my  husband's  love.  You 
see  I  put  it  mildly.  I  have  hated  all  of  you,  Mrs. 
Wrandall,  even  as  you  have  hated  me.  To-day, — • 
now, —  I  do  not  feel  as  I  did  in  other  days  toward  you. 
I  do  not  love  you,  still  I  do  not  hate  you.  I  do  not 
forgive  you,  and  yet  I  think  I  have  come  to  see  things 
from  your  point  of  view.  I  can  only  repeat  that  I 
do  not  hate  you  as  I  once  did." 

She  paused.  The  Wrandalls  were  too  deeply  sub 
merged  in  horror  to  speak.  They  merely  stared  at 
her  as  if  stupefied;  as  breathless,  as  motionless  as 
stones. 

"  There  came  a  day  when  I  observed  that  Leslie  was 
attracted  by  the  guest  in  my  house.  On  that  day  the 
plan  took  root  in  my  brain.  I  — " 

"  Good  God !  "  fell  from  Leslie's  lips.  "  You  —  you 
had  that  in  mind?" 

"  It  became  a  fixed,  inflexible  purpose,  Leslie.  Not 
that  I  hated  you  as  I  hated  the  rest,  for  you  tried  to 
be  considerate.  The  one  grudge  I  held  against  you 
was  that  in  seeking  to  sustain  me  you  defamed  your 
own  brother.  You  came  to  me  with  stories  of  his  mis 
deeds  ;  you  said  that  he  was  a  scoundrel  and  that  you 
would  not  blame  me  for  *  showing  him  up.'  Do  you 
not  remember?  And  so  my  plot  involved  you;  you 
were  the  only  one  through  whom  I  could  strike.  There 
were  times  when  I  faltered.  I  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  sacrificing  Hetty  Castleton,  nor  was  it 


400          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

easy  to  thoroughly  appease  my  conscience  in  respect 
to  you.  Still,  if  I  could  have  had  my  way  a  few 
months  ago,  if  coercion  had  been  of  any  avail,  you 
would  now  be  the  husband  of  your  brother's  slayer. 
Then  I  came  to  know  that  she  was  not  what  I  had 
thought  she  was.  She  was  honest.  My  bubble  burst. 
I  came  out  of  the  maze  in  which  I  had  been  living  and 
saw  clearly  that  what  I  had  contemplated  was  the 
most  atrocious  — " 

"  Atrocious  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Redmond  Wrandall  be 
tween  her  set  teeth.  "  Diabolical !  Diabolical !  My 
God,  Sara,  what  a  devil  you  — "  She  did  not  complete 
the  sentence,  but  sank  back  in  her  chair  and  stared 
with  wide,  horror-struck  eyes  at  her  rigid  daughter- 
in-law. 

Her  husband,  his  hand  shaking  as  if  with  palsy, 
pointed  a  finger  at  Hetty.  "  And  so  you  are  the  one 
we  have  been  hunting  for  all  these  months,  Miss  Cas- 
tleton !  You  are  the  one  we  want !  You  who  have  sat 
at  our  table,  you  who  have  smiled  in  our  faces  — " 

"  Stop,  Mr.  Wrandall !  "  commanded  Sara,  noting 
the  ashen  face  of  the  girl.  "  Don't  let  the  fact  escape 
you  that  I  am  the  guilty  person.  Don't  forget  that 
she  owed  her  freedom,  if  not  her  life  to  me.  I  alone 
kept  her  from  giving  herself  up  to  the  law.  All  that 
has  transpired  since  that  night  in  March  must  be 
placed  to  my  account.  Hetty  Castleton  has  been  my 
prisoner.  She  has  rebelled  a  thousand  times  and  I 
have  conquered  —  not  by  threats  but  by  love!  Do 
you  understand?  Because  of  her  love  for  me,  and  be 
cause  she  believed  that  I  loved  her,  she  submitted. 
You  are  not  to  accuse  her,  Mr.  Wrandall.  Accuse 
me!  I  am  on  trial  here.  Hetty  Castleton  is  a  wit 
ness  against  me,  if  you  choose  to  call  upon  her  as 


THE  JURY  OF  FOUR  401 

such.  If  not,  I  shall  ask  her  to  speak  in  my  defence, 
if  she  can  do  so." 

"This  is  lunacy!"  cried  Mr.  Wrandall,  coming  to 
his  feet.  "  I  don't  care  what  your  motives  may  have 
been.  They  do  not  make  her  any  the  less  a  murder 
ess.  She  — " 

"  We  must  give  her  over  to  the  police  — "  began 
his  wife,  struggling  to  her  feet.  She  staggered.  It 
was  Booth  who  stepped  quickly  to  her  side  to  support 
her.  Leslie  was  staring  at  Hetty. 

Vivian  touched  her  father's  arm.  She  was  very  pale 
but  vastly  more  composed  than  the  others. 

"  Father,  listen  to  me,"  she  said.  Her  voice  trem 
bled  in  spite  of  her  effort  to  control  it.  "  We  are 
condemning  Miss  Castleton  unheard.  Let  us  hear 
everything  before  we  — " 

"  Good  God,  Vivian !     Do  you  mean  to  — " 

"  How  can  we  place  any  reliance  on  what  she  may 
say?"  cried  Mrs.  Wrandall. 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  Vivian  firmly,  "  I  for  one  shall 
not  condemn  her  unheard.  I  mean  to  be  as  fair  to 
her  as  Sara  has  been.  It  shall  not  be  said  that  all  the 
Wrandalls  are  smaller  than  Sara  Gooch ! " 

"  My  child  — "  began  her  father  incredulously. 
His  jaw  dropped  suddenly.  His  daughter's  shot  had 
landed  squarely  in  the  heart  of  the  Wrandall  pride. 

"  If  she  has  anything  to  say," — said  Mrs.  Wrandall, 
waving  Booth  aside  and  sinking  stiffly  into  her  chair. 
Her  husband  sat  down.  Their  jaws  set  hard. 

"  Thank  you,  Vivian,"  said  Sara,  surprised  in  spite 
of  herself.  "  You  are  nobler  than  I  — " 

"  Please  don't  thank  me,  Sara,"  said  Vivian  icily. 
"  I  was  speaking  for  Miss  Castleton." 

Sara  flushed.     "  I  suppose  it  is  useless  to  ask  you 


402          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

to  be  fair  to  Sara  Gooch,  as  you  choose  to  call  me." 

"  Do  you  feel  in  your  heart  that  we  still  owe  you 
anything?  " 

"  Enough  of  this,  Vivian,"  spoke  up  her  father 
harshly.  "  If  Mis.s  Castleton  desires  to  speak  we  will 
listen  to  her.  I  must  advise  you,  Miss  Castleton,  that 
the  extraordinary  disclosures  made  by  my  daughter- 
in-law  do  not  lessen  your  culpability.  We  do  not  in 
sist  on  this  confession  from  you.  You  deliver  it  at 
your  own  risk.  I  want  to  be  fair  with  you.  If  Mr. 
Carroll  is  your  counsel,  he  may  advise  you  now  to  refuse 
to  make  a  statement." 

Mr.  Carroll  bowed  slightly  in  the  general  direction 
of  the  Wrandalls.  "  I  have  already  advised  Miss  Cas 
tleton  to  state  the  case  fully  and  completely  to  you, 
Mr.  Wrandall.  It  was  I  who  originally  suggested  this 
—  well,  what  you  might  call  a  private  trial  for  her. 
I  am  firmly  convinced  that  when  you  have  heard  her 
story,  you,  as  her  judges,  will  acquit  her  of  the  charge 
of  murder.  Moreover,  you  will  be  content  to  let  your 
own  verdict  end  the  matter,  sparing  yourselves  the 
shame  and  ignominy  of  having  her  story  told  in  a 
criminal  court  for  the  delectation  of  an  eager  but 
somewhat  implacable  world." 

"  Your  language  is  extremely  unpleasant,  Mr.  Car 
roll,"  said  Mr.  Wrandall  coldly. 

"  I  meant  to  speak  kindly,  sir." 

"  Do  you  mean,  sir,  that  we  will  let  the  matter  rest 
after  hearing  the  — " 

"  That  is  precisely  what  I  mean,  Mr.  Wrandall. 
You  will  not  consider  her  guilty  of  a  crime.  Please 
bear  in  mind  this  fact:  but  for  Sara  and  Miss  Castle 
ton  you  would  not  have  known  the  truth.  Miss  Cas 
tleton  could  not  be  convicted  in  a  court  of  justice. 


THE  JURY  OF  FOUR  403 

Nor  will  she  be  convicted  here  this  evening,  in  this 
little  court  of  ours." 

"  Miss  Castleton  is  not  on  trial,"  interposed  Sara 
calmly.  "  I  am  the  offender.  She  has  already  been 
tried  and  proved  innocent." 

Leslie,  in  his  impatience,  tapped  sharply  on  the  ta 
ble  with  his  seal  ring. 

"  Please  let  her  tell  the  story.  Permit  me  to  say, 
Miss  Castleton,  that  you  will  not  find  the  Wrandalls 
as  harsh  and  vindictive  as  you  may  have  been  led  to 
believe." 

Mrs.  Wrandall  passed  her  hand  over  her  eyes.  "  To 
think  that  we  have  been  friendly  to  this  girl  all 
these  — " 

"  Calm  yourself,  my  dear,"  said  her  husband,  after 
a  glance  at  his  son  and  daughter,  a  glance  of  unspeak 
able  helplessness.  He  could  not  understand  them. 

As  Hetty  arose,  Mrs.  Wrandall  senior  lowered  her 
eyes  and  not  once  did  she  look  up  during  the  recital 
that  followed.  Her  hands  were  lying  limply  in  her 
lap,  and  she  breathed  heavily,  almost  stertoriously. 
The  younger  Wrandalls  leaned  forward  with  their 
clear,  unwavering  gaze  fixed  on  the  earnest  face  of  the 
young  Englishwoman  who  had  slain  their  brother. 

"  You  have  heard  Sara  accuse  herself,"  said  the 
girl  slowly,  dispassionately.  "  The  shock  was  no 
greater  to  you  than  it  was  to  me.  All  that  she  has 
said  is  true,  and  yet  I  —  I  would  so  much  rather  she 
had  left  herself  unarraigned.  We  were  agreed  that  I 
should  throw  myself  on  your  mercy.  Mr.  Carroll  said 
that  you  were  fair  and  just  people,  that  you  would 
not  condemn  me  under  the  circumstances.  But  that 
Sara  should  seek  to  take  the  blame  is  — " 

"  Alas,  my  dear,  I  am  to  blame,"  said  Sara,  shaking 


404          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

her  head.  "  But  for  me  your  story  would  have  been 
told  months  ago,  the  courts  would  have  cleared  you, 
and  all  the  world  would  have  execrated  my  husband 
for  the  thing  he  did  —  my  husband  and  your  son,  Mrs. 
Wrandall, —  whom  we  both  loved.  God  believe  me,  I 
think  I  loved  him  more  than  all  of  you  put  together !  " 

She  sat  down  abruptly  and  buried  her  face  in  her 
arms  on  the  edge  of  the  table. 

"  If  I  could  only  induce  you  to  forgive  her,"  began 
Hetty,  throwing  out  her  hands  to  the  Wrandalls,  only 
to  be  met  by  a  gesture  of  repugnance  from  the  grim 
old  man. 

"  Your  story,  Miss  Castleton,"  he  said  hoarsely. 

"  From  the  beginning,  if  you  please,"  added  the  law 
yer  quietly.  "  Leave  out  nothing." 

Clearly,  steadily  and  with  the  utmost  sincerity  in 
her  voice  and  manner,  the  girl  began  the  story  of  her 
life.  She  passed  hastily  over  the  earlier  periods, 
frankly  exposing  the  unhappy  conditions  attending  her 
home  life,  her  subsequent  activities  as  a  performer  on 
the  London  stage  after  Colonel  Castleton's  defec 
tion  ;  the  few  months  devoted  to  posing  for  Hawkright 
the  painter,  and  later  on  her  engagement  as  gover 
ness  in  the  wealthy  Budlong  family.  She  devoted 
some  time  and  definiteness  to  her  first  encounter 
with  Challis  Wrandall  on  board  the  westbound  steamer, 
an  incident  that  came  to  pass  in  a  perfectly  natural 
way.  Her  deck  chair  stood  next  to  his,  and  he  was 
not  slow  in  making  himself  agreeable.  It  did  not  oc 
cur  to  her  till  long  afterwards  that  he  deliberately  had 
traded  positions  with  an  elderly  gentleman  who  occu 
pied  the  chair  on  the  first  day  out.  Before  the  end 
of  the  voyage  they  were  very  good  friends. 

"  When  we  landed  in  New  York,  he  assisted  me  in 


THE  JURY  OF  FOUR  405 

many  ways.  Afterwards,  on  learning  that  I  was  not 
to  go  California,  I  called  him  up  on  the  telephone  to 
explain  my  predicament.  He  urged  me  to  stay  in 
New  York ;  he  guaranteed  that  there  would  be  no  diffi 
culty  in  securing  a  splendid  position  in  the  East.  I 
had  no  means  of  knowing  that  he  was  married.  I  ac 
cepted  him  for  what  I  thought  him  to  be:  a  genuine 
American  gentleman.  They  are  supposed  to  be  par 
ticularly  considerate  with  women.  His  conduct  toward 
me  was  beyond  reproach.  I  have  never  known  a  man 
who  was  so  courteous,  so  gentle.  To  me,  he  was  the 
most  fascinating  man  in  the  world.  No  woman  could 
have  resisted  him,  I  am  sure  of  that." 

She  shot  a  quick,  appealing  glance  at  Booth's  hard- 
set  face.  Her  lip  trembled  for  a  second. 

"  I  fell  madly  in  love  with  him,"  she  went  on  reso 
lutely.  "  I  dreamed  of  him,  I  could  hardly  wait  for 
the  time  to  come  when  I  was  to  see  him.  He  never 
came  to  the  wretched  little  lodging  house  I  have  told 
you  about.  I  —  I  met  him  outside.  One  night  he 
told  me  that  he  loved  me,  loved  me  passionately.  I  — 
I  said  that  I  would  be  his  wife.  Somehow  it  seemed 
to  me  that  he  regarded  me  very  curiously  for  a  mo 
ment  or  two.  He  seemed  to  be  surprised,  uncertain. 
I  remember  that  he  laughed  rather  queerly.  It  did 
not  occur  to  me  to  doubt  him.  One  day  he  came  for 
me,  saying  that  he  wanted  me  to  see  the  little  apart 
ment  he  had  taken,  where  we  were  to  live  after  we  were 
married.  I  went  with  him.  He  said  that  if  I  liked 
it,  I  could  move  in  at  once,  but  I  would  not  consent  to 
such  an  arrangement.  For  the  first  time  I  began  to 
feel  that  everything  was  not  as  it  should  be.  I  —  I 
remained  in  the  apartment  but  a  few  minutes.  The 
next  day  he  came  to  me,  greatly  excited  and  more 


406          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

demonstrative  than  ever  before,  to  say  that  he  had 
arranged  for  a  quiet,  jolly  little  wedding  up  in  the 
country.  Strangely  enough  I  experienced  a  queer 
feeling  that  all  was  not  as  it  should  be,  but  his  eager 
ness,  his  persistence  dispelled  the  small  doubt  that 
had  begun  even  then  to  shape  itself.  I  consented  to  go 
with  him  on  the  next  night  to  an  inn  out  in  the  coun 
try,  where  a  college  friend  who  was  a  minister  of  the 
gospel  would  meet  us,  driving  over  from  his  parish  a 
few  miles  away.  I  said  that  I  preferred  to  be  married 
in  a  church.  He  laughed  and  said  it  could  be  ar 
ranged  when  we  got  to  the  inn  and  had  talked  it  over 
with  the  minister.  Still  uneasy,  I  asked  why  it  was 
necessary  to  employ  secrecy.  He  told  me  that  his 
family  were  in  Europe  and  that  he  wanted  to  surprise 
them  by  giving  them  a  daughter  who  was  actually  re 
lated  to  an  English  nobleman.  The  family  had  been 
urging  him  to  marry  a  stupid  but  rich  New  York  girl 
and  he  —  oh,  well,  he  uttered  a  great  deal  of  nonsense 
about  my  beauty,  my  charm,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing  — " 

She  paused  for  a  moment.  No  one  spoke.  Her 
audience  of  judges,  with  the  exception  of  the  elder 
Mrs.  Wrandall,  watched  her  as  if  fascinated.  Their 
faces  were  almost  expressionless.  With  a  perceptible 
effort,  she  resumed  her  story,  narrating  events  that 
carried  it  up  to  the  hour  when  she  walked  into  the  lit 
tle  upstairs  room  at  Burton's  Inn  with  the  man  who 
was  to  be  her  husband. 

"  I  did  not  see  the  register  at  the  inn.  I  did  not 
know  till  afterwards  that  we  were  not  booked.  Once 
upstairs,  I  refused  to  remove  my  hat  or  my  veil  or  my 
coat  until  he  brought  his  friend  to  me.  He  pretended 
to  be  very  angry  over  his  friend's  failure  to  be  there 


THE  JURY  OF  FOUR  407 

beforehand,  as  he  had  promised.  He  ordered  a  sup 
per  served  in  the  room.  I  did  not  eat  anything. 
Somehow  I  was  beginning  to  understand,  vaguely  of 
course,  but  surely  —  and  bitterly,  Mr.  Wrandall. 
Suddenly  he  threw  off  the  mask. 

"  He  coolly  informed  me  that  he  knew  the  kind  of  girl 
I  was.  I  had  been  on  the  stage.  He  said  it  was  no 
use  trying  to  work  the  marriage  game  on  him.  He 
was  too  old  a  bird  and  too  wise  to  fall  for  that.  Those 
were  his  words.  I  was  horrified,  stunned.  When  I 
began  to  cry  out  in  my  fury,  he  laughed  at  me  but 
swore  he  would  marry  me  even  at  that  if  it  were  not 
for  the  fact  that  he  already  was  married.  ...  I 
tried  to  leave  the  room.  He  held  me.  He  kissed  me 
a  hundred  times  before  I  could  break  away.  I  —  I 
tried  to  scream.  ...  A  little  later  on,  when  I 
was  absolutely  desperate,  I  —  I  snatched  up  the  knife. 
There  was  nothing  else  left  for  me  to  do.  I  struck 
at  him.  He  fell  back  on  the  bed.  ...  I  stole 
out  of  the  house  —  oh,  hours  and  hours  afterward  it 
seemed  to  me.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  long  I  stood 
there  watching  him.  ...  I  was  crazed  by  fear. 
I  — I—" 

Redmond  Wrandall  held  up  his  hand. 

"  We  will  spare  you  the  rest,  Miss  Castleton,"  he 
said,  his  voice  hoarse  and  unnatural.  "  There  is  no 
need  to  say  more." 

"  You  —  you  understand  ?  You  do  believe  me  ?  '* 
she  cried. 

He  looked  down  at  his  wife's  bowed  head,  and  re 
ceived  no  sign  from  her;  then  at  the  white,  drawn 
faces  of  his  children.  They  met  his  gaze  and  he  readi 
something  in  their  eyes. 

"I  —  I  think  your  story  is  so  convincing  that  we  — - 


408          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

we  could  not  endure  the  shame  of  having  it  repeated 
to  the  world." 

"  I  —  I  cannot  ask  you  to  forgive  me,  sir.  I  only 
ask  you  to  believe  me,"  she  murmured  brokenly.  "  I 
—  I  am  sorry  it  had  to  be.  God  is  my  witness  that 
there  was  no  other  way." 

Mr.  Carroll  came  to  his  feet.  There  were  tears  in 
his  eyes. 

*'  I  think,  Mr.  Wrandall,  you  will  now  appreciate 
my  motives  in — " 

"  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Carroll,  if  I  suggest  that  Miss 
Castleton  does  not  require  any  defence  at  present," 
said  Mr.  Wrandall  stiffly.  "  Your  motives  were  doubt 
less  good.  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  conduct  us  to  a 
room  where  we  may  —  may  be  alone  for  a  short 
while?  " 

There  was  something  tragic  in  the  man's  face.  His 
son  and  daughter  arose  as  if  moved  by  an  instinctive 
realisation  of  a  duty,  and  perhaps  for  the  first  time 
in  their  lives  were  submissive  to  an  influence  they  had 
never  quite  recognised  before:  a  father's  unalterable 
right  to  command.  For  once  in  their  lives  they  were 
meek  in  his  presence.  They  stepped  to  his  side  and 
stood  waiting,  and  neither  of  them  spoke. 

Mr.  Wrandall  laid  his  hand  heavily  on  his  wife's 
shoulder.  She  started,  looked  up  rather  vacantly,  and 
then  arose  without  assistance.  He  did  not  make  the 
mistake  of  offering  to  assist  her.  He  knew  too  well 
that  to  question  her  strength  now  would  be  but  to  in 
vite  weakness.  She  was  strong.  He  knew  her  well. 

She  stood  straight  and  firm  for  a  few  seconds,  trans 
fixing  Hetty  with  a  look  that  seemed  to  bore  into  the 
very  soul  of  her,  and  then  spoke. 

"  You  ask  us  to  be  your  judges?  " 


THE  JURY  OF  FOUR  409 

"I  ask  you  to  judge  not  me  alone  but  —  your  son 
as  well,"  said  Hetty,  meeting  her  look  steadily.  "  You 
cannot  pronounce  me  innocent  without  pronouncing 
him  guilty.  It  will  be  hard." 

Sara  raised  her  head  from  her  arms. 

"  You  know  the  way  into  my  sitting-room,  Leslie," 
she  said,  with  singular  directness.  Then  she  arose 
and  drew  her  figure  to  its  full  height.  "  Please  re 
member  that  it  is  I  who  am  to  be  judged.  Judge  me 
as  I  have  judged  you.  I  am  not  asking  for  mercy." 

Hetty  impulsively  threw  her  arms  about  the  rigid 
•figure,  and  swept  a  pleading  look  from  one  to  the 
other  of  the  four  stony-faced  Wrandalls. 

They  turned  away  without  a  word  or  a  revealing 
look,  and  slowly  moved  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
boudoir.  They  who  remained  behind  stood  still,  mo 
tionless  as  statues.  It  was  Vivian  who  opened  the 
library  door.  She  closed  it  after  the  others  had 
passed  through,  and  did  not  look  behind. 

Half  an  hour  passed.  Then  the  door  was  opened 
and  the  tall  old  man  advanced  into  the  room. 

"  We  have  found  against  my  son,  Miss  Castleton," 
he  said,  his  lips  twitching.  "  He  is  not  here  to  speak 
for  himself,  but  he  has  already  been  judged.  We,  his 
family,  apologise  to  you  for  what  you  have  suffered 
from  the  conduct  of  one  of  us.  Not  one  but  all  of  us 
believe  the  story  you  have  told.  It  must  never  be  re 
told.  We  ask  this  of  all  of  you.  It  is  not  in  our 
hearts  to  thank  Sara  for  shielding  you,  for  her  hand 
is  still  raised  against  us.  We  are  fair  and  just.  If 
you  had  come  to  us  on  that  wretched  night  and  told 
the  story  of  my  son's  infamy,  we,  the  Wrandalls, 
would  have  stood  between  you  and  the  law.  The  law 


410          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

could  not  have  touched  you  then;  it  shall  not  touch 
you  now.  Our  verdict,  if  you  choose  to  call  it  that, 
is  sealed.  No  man  shall  ever  hear  from  the  lips  of  a 
Wrandall  the  smallest  part  of  what  has  transpired 
here  to-night.  Mr.  Carroll,  you  were  right.  We 
thank  you  for  the  counsel  that  led  this  unhappy  girl 
to  place  herself  in  our  hands." 

"Oh,  God,  I  thank  thee  —  I  thank  thee!"  burst 
from  the  lips  of  Sara  Wrandall.  She  strained  Hetty 
to  her  breast. 

"  It  is  not  for  us  to  judge  you,  Sara,"  said  Red 
mond  Wrandall,  speaking  with  difficulty.  "  You  are 
your  own  judge,  and  a  harsh  one  you  will  find  your 
self.  As  for  ourselves,  we  can  only  look  upon  your 
unspeakable  design  as  the  working  of  a  temporarily 
deranged  mind.  You  could  never  have  carried  it  out. 
You  are  an  honest  woman.  At  the  last  you  would 
have  revolted,  even  with  victory  assured.  Perhaps 
Leslie  is  the  only  one  who  has  a  real  grievance  against 
you  in  this  matter.  I  am  convinced  that  he  loved  Miss 
Castleton  deeply.  The  worst  hurt  is  his,  and  he  has 
been  your  most  devoted  advocate  during  all  the  years 
of  bitterness  that  has  existed  between  you  and  us. 
You  thought  to  play  him  a  foul  trick.  You  could  not 
have  carried  it  to  the  end.  We  leave  you  to  pass  judg 
ment  on  yourself." 

"  I  have  already  done  so,  Mr.  Wrandall,"  said  Sara. 
"  Have  I  not  accused  myself  before  you  ?  Have  I  not 
confessed  to  the  only  crime  that  has  been  committed? 
I  am  not  proud  of  myself,  sir." 

"  You  have  hated  us  well." 

"  And  you  have  hated  me.  The  crime  you  hold  me 
guilty  of  was  committed  years  ago.  It  was  when  I 
robbed  you  of  your  son.  To  this  day  I  am  the  leper 


THE  JURY  OF  FOUR  411 

in  your  path.  I  may  be  forgiven  for  all  else,  but  not 
for  allowing  Challis  Wrandall  to  become  the  husband 
of  Sebastian  Gooch's  daughter.  That  is  the  unpar 
donable  sin." 

Mr.  Wrandall  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  You  still  are  Sebastian  Gooch's  daughter,"  he 
said  distinctly.  "  You  can  never  be  anything  else." 

She  paled.  "  This  last  transaction  proves  it,  you 
would  say?  " 

"  This  last  transaction,  yes." 

She  looked  about  her  with  troubled,  questioning  eyes. 

"  I  —  I  wonder  if  that  can  be  true,"  she  murmured, 
rather  piteously.  "  Am  I  so  different  from  the  rest 
of  you?  Is  the  blood  to  blame?  " 

"  Nonsense ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Carroll  nervously. 
"  Don't  be  silly,  Sara,  my  child.  That  is  not  what 
Mr.  Wrandall  means." 

Wrandall  turned  his  face  away. 

"  You  loved  as  deeply  as  you  hate,  Sara,"  he  said, 
with  a  curious  twitching  of  his  chin.  "  My  son  was 
your  god.  We  are  not  insensible  to  that.  Perhaps 
we  have  never  realised  until  now  the  depth  and  breadth 
of  your  love  for  him.  Love  is  a  bitter  judge  of  its 
enemies.  It  knows  no  mercy,  it  knows  no  reason. 
Hate  may  be  conquered  by  love,  but  love  cannot  be 
conquered  by  hate.  You  had  reason  to  hate  my  son. 
Instead  you  persisted  in  your  love  for  him.  We  —  we 
owe  you  something  for  that,  Sara.  We  owe  you  a 
great  deal  more  than  I  find  myself  able  to  express  in 
words." 

Leslie  entered  the  room  at  this  instant.  He  had 
his  overcoat  on  and  carried  his  gloves  and  hat  in  his 
hand. 

"  We  are  ready,  father,"  he  said  thickly. 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

After  a  moment's  hesitation,  he  crossed  over  to 
Hetty,  who  stood  beside  Sara. 

"I  —  I  can  now  understand  why  you  refused  to 
marry  me,  Miss  Castleton,"  he  said,  in  a  queer,  jerky 
manner.  "  Won't  you  let  me  say  that  I  wish  you  all 
the  happiness  still  to  be  found  in  this  rather  uneven 
world  of  ours  ?  " 

The  crowning  testimonial  to  an  absolutely  sincere 
ego! 


CHAPTER    XXV 

RENUNCIATION 

ON  the  third  day  after  the  singular  trial  of  Hetty 
Castleton  in  Sara's  library,  young  Mrs.  Wrandall's 
motor  drew  up  in  front  of  a  lofty  office  building  in 
lower  Broadway;  its  owner  stepped  down  from  the 
limousine  and  entered  the  building.  A  few  moments 
later  she  walked  bristly  into  the  splendid  offices  of 
Wrandall  &  Co.,  private  bankers  and  steamship-own 
ers.  The  clerks  in  the  outer  offices  stared  for  a  mo 
ment  in  significant  surprise,  and  then  bowed  respect 
fully  to  the  beautiful  silent  partner  in  the  great 
concern. 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  been  seen  in  the  offices 
since  the  tragic  event  that  had  served  to  make  her  a 
member  of  the  firm.  A  boy  at  the  information  desk, 
somewhat  impressed  by  her  beauty  and  the  trim  ele 
gance  of  her  long  black  broad-tail  coat,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  dark  eyes  that  shone  through  the  narrow  veil, 
forgot  the  dignity  of  his  office  and  went  so  far  as  to 
politely  ask  her  who  she  wanted  to  see  and  "  what 
name,  please." 

The  senior  clerk  rushed  forward  and  transfixed  the 
new  boy  with  a  glare. 

"  A  new  boy,  Mrs.  Wrandall,"  he  made  haste  to  ex 
plain.  To  the  new  boy's  surprise,  the  visitor  was  con 
ducted  with  much  bowing  and  scraping  into  the  private 
offices,  where  no  one  ventured  except  by  special  edict 
of  the  powers. 

"  Who  was  it  ?  "  he  asked,  in  some  awe,  of  a  veteran 
stenographer  who  came  up  and  sneered  at  him. 

413 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  Mrs.  Challis  Wrandall,  you  little  simpleton,"  said 
she,  and  for  once  he  failed  to  snap  back. 

It  is  of  record  that  for  nearly  two  whole  days,  he 
was  polite  to  every  visitor  who  approached  him  and 
was  generally  worth  his  salt. 

Sara  found  herself  in  the  close  little  room  that  once 
had  been  her  husband's,  but  was  now  scrupulously  held 
in  reserve  for  her  own  use.  Rather  a  waste  of  space, 
she  felt  as  she  looked  about  the  office.  The  clerk 
dusted  an  easy  chair  and  threw  open  the  long  unused 
desk  near  the  window. 

"  We  are  very  glad  to  see  you  here,  madam,"  he 
said.  "  This  room  hasn't  been  used  much,  as  you  may 
observe.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you?  " 

She  continued  her  critical  survey  of  the  room. 
Nothing  had  been  changed  since  the  days  when  she 
used  to  visit  her  husband  here  on  occasions  of  rare 
social  importance:  such  as  calling  to  take  him  out  to 
luncheon,  or  to  see  that  he  got  safely  home  on  rainy 
afternoons.  The  big  picture  of  a  steamship  still 
hung  on  the  wall  across  the  room.  Her  own  photo 
graph,  in  a  silver  frame,  stood  in  one  of  the  recesses 
of  the  desk.  She  observed  that  there  was  a  clean 
white  blotter  there,  too;  but  the  ink  wells  appeared 
to  be  empty,  if  she  was  to  judge  by  the  look  of  chagrin 
on  the  clerk's  face  as  he  inspected  them.  Photographs 
of  polo  scenes  in  which  Wrandall  was  a  prominent  fig 
ure,  hung  about  the  walls,  with  two  or  three  pictures 
of  his  favourite  ponies,  and  one  of  a  ragged  gipsy 
girl  with  wonderful  eyes,  carrying  a  monkey  in  a  crude 
wooden  cage  strapped  to  her  back.  On  closer  obser 
vation  one  would  have  recognised  Sara's  peculiarly 
gipsy-like  features  in  the  face  of  the  girl,  and  then 
one  would  have  noticed  the  caption  written  in  red  ink 


RENUNCIATION  415 

at  the  bottom  of  the  photograph :  "  The  Trwnibell's 
Fancy  Dress  Ball,  Jarvwary  10,  '07.  Sara  as  Gipsy 
Mob." 

With  a  start,  Sara  came  out  of  her  painful  reverie. 
She  passed  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  and  seemed  thereby 
to  put  the  polite  senior  clerk  back  into  the  picture  once 
more. 

"  No,  thank  you.  Is  Mr.  Redmond  Wrandall  down 
this  afternoon?  " 

"  He  came  in  not  ten  minutes  ago.  Mr.  Leslie 
Wrandall  is  also  here.  Shall  I  tell  Mr.  Wrandall 
you  wish  to  see  him?  " 

"  You  may  tell  him  that  I  am  here,  if  you  please," 
she  said. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  about  the  ink  wells,  madam," 
murmured  the  clerk.  "  We  —  we  were  not  expect- 
ing—" 

"  Pray  don't  let  it  disturb  you,  Mr.  Rancroft.  I 
shall  not  use  them  to-day." 

"  They  will  be  properly  filled  by  to-morrow." 

"  Thank  you." 

He  disappeared.  She  relaxed  in  the  familiar,  com 
fortable  old  leather-cushioned  chair,  and  closed  her 
eyes.  There  was  a  sharp  little  line  between  them,  but 
it  was  hidden  by  the  veil. 

The  door  opened  slowly  and  Redmond  Wrandall 
came  into  the  room.  She  arose  at  once. 

"  This  is  —  er  —  an  unexpected  pleasure,  Sara,"  he 
said,  perplexed  and  ill-at-ease.  He  stopped  just  in 
side  the  door  he  had  been  careful  to  close  behind  him, 
and  did  not  offer  her  his  hand. 

"  I  came  down  to  attend  to  some  business,  Mr. 
Wrandall,"  she  said. 

"  Rusiness  ?  "  he  repeated,  staring. 


416          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

She  took  note  of  the  tired,  haggard  look  in  his  eyes, 
and  the  tightly  compressed  lips. 

"  I  intend  to  dispose  of  my  entire  interest  in  Wran- 
dall  &  Co.,"  she  announced  calmly. 

He  took  a  step  forward,  plainly  startled  by  the 
declaration. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  he  demanded  sharply. 

"  We  may  as  well  speak  plainly,  Mr.  Wrandall,"  she 
said.  "  You  do  not  care  to  have  me  remain  a  member 
of  the  firm,  nor  do  I  blame  you  for  feeling  as  you  do 
about  it.  A  year  ago  you  offered  to  buy  me  out  — 
or  off,  as  I  took  it  to  be  at  the  time.  I  had  reasons 
then  for  not  selling  out  to  you.  To-day  I  am  ready 
either  to  buy  or  to  sell." 

"  You  —  you  amaze  me,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Does  your  offer  of  last  December  still  stand?  " 

"  I  —  I  think  we  would  better  have  Leslie  in,  Sara. 
This  is  most  unexpected.  I  don't  quite  feel  up  to  — " 

"  Have  Leslie  in  by  all  means,"  she  said,  resuming 
her  seat. 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  opened  his  lips  as  if  to 
speak,  and  then  abruptly  left  the  room. 

Sara  smiled. 

Many  minutes  passed  before  the  two  Wrandalls  put 
in  an  appearance.  She  understood  the  delay.  They 
were  telephoning  to  certain  legal  advisers. 

"What's  this  I  hear,  Sara?"  demanded  Leslie,  ex 
tending  his  hand  after  a  second's  hesitation. 

She  shook  hands  with  him,  not  listlessly  but  with 
the  vigour  born  of  nervousness. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you've  heard,"  she  said  point 
edly. 

His  slim  fingers  went  searching  for  the  end  of  his 
moustache. 


RENUNCIATION  417 

"  Why, —  why,  about  selling  out  to  us,"  he  stam 
mered. 

"  I  am  willing  to  retire  from  the  firm  of  Wrandall 
&  Co.,"  she  said. 

"  Father  says  the  business  is  as  good  as  it  was  a 
year  ago,  but  J.  don't  agree  with  him,"  said  the  son, 
trying  to  look  lugubrious. 

"  Then  you  don't  care  to  repeat  your  original  prop 
osition  ?  " 

"  Well,  the  way  business  has  been  falling  off  — " 

"  Perhaps  you  would  prefer  to  sell  out  to  me,"  she 
remarked  quietly. 

"  Not  at  all ! "  he  said  quickly,  with  a  surprised 
glance  at  his  father.  "  We  couldn't  think  of  letting 
the  business  pass  out  of  the  Wrandall  name." 

"  You  forget  that  my  name  is  Wrandall,"  she  re 
joined.  "  There  would  be  no  occasion  to  change  the 
firm's  name;  merely  its  membership." 

"  Our  original  offer  stands,"  said  the  senior  Wran 
dall  stiffly.  "We  prefer  to  buy." 

"  And  I  to  sell.  Mr.  Carroll  will  meet  you  to-mor 
row,  gentlemen.  He  will  represent  me  as  usual.  Our 
business  as  well  as  social  relations  are  about  to  end,  I 
suppose.  My  only  regret  is  that  I  cannot  further 
accommodate  you  by  changing  my  name.  Still  you 
may  live  in  hope  that  time  may  work  even  that  won 
der  for  you." 

She  arose.  The  two  men  regarded  her  in  an  ag 
grieved  way  for  a  moment. 

"  I  have  no  real  feeling  of  hostility  toward  you, 
Sara,"  said  Leslie  nervously,  "  in  spite  of  all  that  you 
said  the  other  night." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  don't  mean  that,  deep  down  in 
your  heart,  Leslie,"  she  said,  with  a  queer  little  smile. 


418          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

"  But  I  do,"  he  protested.  "  Hang  it  all,  we  —  we 
live  in  a  glass  house  ourselves,  Sara.  I  dare  say,  in  a 
way,  I  was  quite  as  unpleasant  as  the  rest  of  the  fam 
ily.  You  see,  we  just  can't  help  being  snobs.  It's  in 
us,  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

Mr.  Wrandall  looked  up  from  the  floor,  his  gaze 
having  dropped  at  the  first  outburst  from  his  son's 
lips. 

"  We  —  we  prefer  to  be  friendly,  Sara,  if  you  will 
allow  us  — " 

She  laughed  and  the  old  gentleman  stopped  in  the 
middle  of  his  sentence. 

"  We  can't  be  friends,  Mr.  Wrandall,"  she  said,  sud 
denly  serious.  "  The  pretence  would  be  a  mockery. 
We  are  all  better  off  if  we  allow  our  paths,  our  inter 
ests  to  diverge  to-day." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  said  he,  compressing  his 
lips. 

"  I  believe  that  Vivian  and  I  could  —  but  no !  I 
won't  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  either.  There  is  some 
thing  genuine  about  her.  Strange  to  say,  I  have 
never  disliked  her." 

"  If  you  had  made  the  slightest  effort  to  like  us,  no 
doubt  we  could  have  — " 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Wrandall,"  she  interrupted  quickly, 
*'  I  credit  you  with  the  desire  to  be  fair  and  just  to 
me.  You  have  tried  to  like  me.  You  have  even  de 
ceived  yourself  at  times.  I  —  but  why  these  gentle 
recriminations?  We  merely  prolong  an  unfortunate 
contest  between  antagonistic  natures,  with  no  hope  of 
genuine  peace  being  established.  I  do  not  regret  that 
I  am  your  daughter-in-law,  nor  do  I  believe  that  you 
would  regret  it  if  I  had  not  been  the  daughter  of  Se 
bastian  Gooch." 


RENUNCIATION  419 

"  Your  father  was  as  little  impressed  with  my  son 
as  I  was  with  his  daughter,"  said  Redmond  Wrandall 
drily.  "  I  am  forced  to  confess  that  he  was  the  better 
judge.  We  had  the  better  of  the  bargain." 

"  I  believe  you  mean  it,  Mr.  Wrandall,"  she  said» 
a  note  of  gratitude  in  her  voice.  "  Good-bye.  Mr. 
Carroll  will  see  you  to-morrow."  She  glanced  quickly 
about  the  room.  "  I  shall  send  for  —  for  certain  ar 
ticles  that  are  no  longer  required  in  conducting  the 
business  of  Wrandall  &  Co." 

With  a  quaint  little  smile,  she  indicated  the  two  pho 
tographs  of  herself. 

"  By  Jove,  Sara,"  burst  out  Leslie  abruptly.  "  I 
wish  you'd  let  me  have  that  Gipsy  Mab  picture.  I've 
always  been  dotty  over  it,  don't  you  know.  Ripping 
study." 

Her  lip  curled  slightly. 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,"  he  explained  conclusively, 
"  Chal  often  said  he'd  leave  it  to  me  when  he  died.  In 
a  joking  way,  of  course,  but  I'm  sure  he  meant  it." 

"  You  may  have  it,  Leslie,"  she  said  slowly.  It  is 
doubtful  if  he  correctly  interpreted  the  movement  of 
her  head  as  she  uttered  the  words. 

"Thanks,"  said  he.  "I'll  hang  it  in  my  den,  if 
you  don't  object." 

"  We  shall  expect  Mr.  Carroll  to-morrow,  Sara," 
said  his  father,  with  an  air  of  finality.  "  Good-bye. 
May  I  ask  what  plans  you  are  making  for  the  win 
ter?  " 

"  They  are  very  indefinite." 

"I  say,  Sara,  why  don't  you  get  married?"  asked 
Leslie,  surveying  the  Gipsy  Mab  photograph  with  un 
disguised  admiration  as  he  held  it  at  arm's  length, 
"  Ripping !  "  This  to  the  picture. 


420          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

She  paused  near  the  door  to  stare  at  him  for  a  mo 
ment,  unutterable  scorn  in  her  eyes. 

"  I've  had  a  notion  you  were  pretty  keen  about 
Brandy  Booth,"  he  went  on  amiably. 

She  caught  her  breath.  There  was  an  instant's 
hesitation  on  her  part  before  she  replied. 

"  You  have  never  been  very  smart  at  making  love 
guesses,  Leslie,"  she  said.  "  It's  a  trick  you  haven't 
acquired." 

He  laughed  uncomfortably.     "  Neat   stroke,  that." 

Following  her  into  the  corridor  outside  the  offices, 
he  pushed  the  elevator  bell  for  her. 

"  I  meant  what  I  said,  Sara,"  he  remarked,  some 
what  doggedly.  "  You  ought  to  get  married.  Chal 
didn't  leave  much  for  you  to  cherish.  There's  no  rea 
son  why  you  should  go  on  like  this,  living  alone  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing.  You're  young  and  beautiful 
and  — " 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Leslie,"  she  cried  out  sharply. 

"  You  see,  it's  going  to  be  this  way :  Hetty  will 
probably  marry  Booth.  That's  on  dit,  I  take  it. 
You're  depending  on  her  for  companionship.  Well, 
she'll  quit  you  cold  after  she's  married.  She  will — " 

She  interrupted  him  peremptorily. 

"  If  Challis  did  nothing  else  for  me,  Leslie,  he  at 
least  gave  me  you  to  cherish.  Once  more,  good-bye." 

The  elevator  stopped  for  her.  He  strolled  back  to 
his  office  with  a  puzzled  frown  on  his  face.  She  cer 
tainly  was  inexplicable! 

The  angry  red  faded  from  her  cheeks  as  she  sped 
homeward  in  the  automobile.  Her  thoughts  were  no 
longer  of  Leslie  but  of  another.  .  .  .  She  sighed 
and  closed  her  eyes,  and  her  cheeks  were  pale. 

Workmen  from  a  picture  dealer's  establishment  were 


RENUNCIATION  421 

engaged  in  hanging  a  full  length  portrait  in  the  long 
living-room  of  her  apartment  when  she  reached  home. 
She  had  sent  to  the  country  for  Booth's  picture  of 
Hetty,  and  was  having  it  hung  in  a  conspicuous  place. 
For  a  long  time  she  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
studying  the  canvas.  Hetty's  Irish  blue  eyes  seemed 
to  return  the  scrutiny,  a  questioning  look  in  their 
painted  depths.  The  warm,  half  smiling  lips  ap 
peared  to  be  on  the  point  of  putting  into  words  the 
eager  question  that  lay  in  her  wondering  eyes. 

Passing  the  open  library  door,  Sara  paused  for  an 
instant  to  peer  within.  Then  she  went  on  down  the 
hall  to  her  own  sitting-room.  The  canary  was  sing 
ing  glibly  in  his  cage  by  the  window-side. 

She  threw  aside  her  furs,  and,  without  removing  her 
hat,  passed  into  the  bed-chamber  at  the  left  of  the 
cosy  little  boudoir.  This  was  Hetty's  room.  Her 
own  was  directly  opposite.  On  the  girl's  dressing- 
table,  leaning  against  the  broad,  low  mirror,  stood 
the  unframed  photograph  of  a  man.  With  a  furtive 
glance  over  her  shoulder,  Sara  crossed  to  the  table 
and  took  up  the  picture  in  her  gloved  hand.  For  a 
long  time  she  stood  there  gazing  into  the  frank,  good- 
looking  face  of  Brandon  Booth.  She  breathed  faster ; 
her  hand  shook ;  her  eyes  were  strained  as  if  by  an  in 
ward  suggestion  of  pain. 

She  shook  her  head  slowly,  as  if  in  final  renuncia 
tion  of  a  secret  hope  or  the  banishment  of  an  unwel 
come  desire,  and  resolutely  replaced  the  photograph. 
Her  lips  were  almost  white  as  she  turned  away  and  re- 
entered  the  room  beyond. 

"  He  belongs  to  her,"  she  said,  unconsciously  speak 
ing  aloud ;  "  and  he  is  like  all  men.  She  must  not  be 
unhappy." 


422          THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HAND 

Presently  she  entered  the  library.  She  had  ex 
changed  her  tailor-suit  for  a  dainty  house-gown. 
Hetty  was  still  seated  in  the  big  lounging  chair,  before 
the  snapping  fire,  apparently  not  having  moved  since 
she  looked  in  on  passing  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before. 
One  of  the  girl's  legs  was  curled  up  under  her,  the 
other  swung  loose;  an  elbow  rested  on  the  arm  of  the 
chair,  and  her  cheek  was  in  her  hand. 

Coming  softly  up  from  behind,  Sara  leaned  over  the 
back  of  the  chair  and  put  her  hands  under  her  friend's 
chin,  tenderly,  lovingly.  Hetty  started  and  shivered. 

"  Oh,  Sara,  how  cold  your  hands  are !  " 

She  grasped  them  in  her  own  and  fondly  stroked 
them,  as  if  to  restore  warmth  to  the  long,  slim  fingers 
which  gave  the  lie  to  Mrs.  Coburn's  declarations. 

"  I've  been  thinking  all  morning  of  what  you  and 
Brandon  proposed  to  me  last  night,  dear,"  said  Sara, 
looking  straight  over  the  girl's  head,  the  dark,  lan 
guorous,  mysterious  glow  filling  her  eyes.  "  It  is 
good  of  you  both  to  want  me,  but  — " 

"Now  don't  say  'but,'  Sara,"  cried  Hetty.  "We 
mean  it,  and  you  must  let  us  have  our  way." 

"  It  would  be  splendid  to  be  near  you  all  the  time, 
dear;  it  would  be  wonderful  to  live  with  you  as  you  so 
generously  propose,  but  I  cannot  do  it.  I  must  de 
cline." 

"  And  may  I  ask  why  you  decline  to  live  with  me  ?  " 
demanded  Hetty  resentfully. 

"  Because  I  love  you  so  dearly,"  said  Sara. 


THE  END 


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